


a pile of broken parts

by walkinginthewinds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Anxiety, Body Image, Bulimia, Depressed Harry, Depression, Domestic, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Louis, Recovery, Self Harm, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, married, misuse of medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkinginthewinds/pseuds/walkinginthewinds
Summary: AU. Harry has been struggling for quite some time now. All his husband Louis wants is for him to feel something again.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> In light of recent events I decided to delete all of my fics, and then naturally I woke up in a panic because I realized this one was my favorite and one I'm most proud of, so here it is again. I don't think I'll be writing any more, but I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. I also lost all my kudos and comments so I'll just pretend that doesn't bother me. Harry has a new era and so do I.
> 
> \--  
> This is heavy.
> 
> There are some major trigger warnings in this story, so PLEASE check the tags above if you're uncomfortable with certain issues. I don't want to make anyone upset :(
> 
> This is something I've had in my head for quite some time. It's based on my own experiences and the experiences of people I know.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own anything, and I am in no way trying to romanticize any disorders, whether physical or mental. I want to note that a character in this story has depression and body dysmorphia/various eating disorders, so sometimes the text runs off in a tangent or an unfinished thought because that is the way he is expressing himself through his thoughts. It might be a little confusing, but it should make sense in the end.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Nobody reads the notes on this website, self included, so I don't know why I'm still blabbering.
> 
> **Title from Bumper Cars by Alex and Sierra

The first time Louis saw Harry have a panic attack was in their biology class in college, almost six years ago. Louis had been few minutes late, so Harry was sat alone at their lab table as he waited for his boyfriend. It was an 8 am class and he was munching on a bagel with a ton of cream cheese on it, his usual breakfast. Harry heard the snickering and whispers behind him, but he thought nothing of it. It was probably just his imagination. As the teacher came into class, exhausted and gulping coffee out of a thermos like he needed the liquid to breathe, he heard whispers. “ _Fucking fatass. How does that twink even fit in those jeans? Where’s his boyfriend at, anyway? He probably squished him when they were having sex - not that I’d like to see that fat arse naked.”_

 

Harry felt a ton of things at once. First, his hands started shaking, and he struggled to stay still. Then, his throat closed up, and his vision blurred violently. The feeling was unpleasant and familiar all at once. Harry dropped the bagel from his twitching hands and it landed facedown on the floor. He flushed with embarrassment, stumbling out of his chair to pick it up, only to drop it again on his sweater when he stood up again, his cheeks flushing an even deeper red. His head started pounding and he felt like he was going to pass out. The boys behind him were in hysterics at this, and their professor hadn’t even looked up from his phone yet. Harry felt pinching at the back of his eyes and scrambled to wipe the cream cheese up off the floor, biting his lip off and trying his hardest not to cry. He started biting down on his finger as hard as he could until he tasted blood. His chest was closing up and black dots started to fill his eyes. People were taking pictures of him. Laughing at him as he tried to breathe. He leaned against the tabletop, watching blood drip from his fingers and onto the table when he felt someone step up to him. He braced himself; waiting for the football player to hit him or call him a ugly twink, but it was a familiar-scented someone, someone with strong arms that wound around his fat hips, lips pressed to his temple. “Hey, Harry? Are you...what’s going on?” It was Louis, concern thick in his voice. Harry felt strong hands on his lower back, but he couldn’t remember anything else once his vision went black and he collapsed into Louis’ arms.

 

 

Harry and Louis had gotten married as soon as the two of them finished college - Louis was a few years above Harry, but they ended up buying an apartment together in Harry’s final year, where they lived for two more years until they bought their first home together.

 

Harry had struggled with depression, anxiety, and body dysmorphia since he was very young, about thirteen or fourteen. Nobody really knew what set it off - his doctors thought it could be something in his blood, or maybe it depended on the weather. His mother didn’t know what had happened to her boy to make him hurt so bad, to make him feel so sad constantly. He went to therapy, took four kinds of pills (two in the morning, one at lunch, and one before he went to bed.) He was screened for an eating disorder and self mutilation. He was threatened with hospital stays and rehabilitation, but his mother refused.

 

“You’re not locking my baby up and feeding him through a tube,” she cried into the telephone when she thought Harry was asleep. Harry crouched at the top of the stairs, resting his head against the wall. Every time he heard his mother let out a sob, he pinched his thigh as hard as he could, so he could feel the same pain she felt every day because of him. He watched the pain in her eyes flicker on and off when he wouldn’t eat dinner; he wanted to nap, or he grabbed food on the way home - both of which were lies.

 

“I just want what’s best for you, Harry,” Anne would whisper as he made the two of them tea. Her voice would echo across the tile of their empty kitchen and rattle his empty chest.

 

“I know, Mummy,” he would reply. Then he’d kiss her cheek, or squeeze her hand, and swallow down his pills with his tea. Eventually, she would go to bed, reminding him not to stay up too late, and he’d turn on the shower and vomit into the toilet until he felt weightless and clean inside. But he never felt weightless, and he didn’t know when he would ever feel clean again.

 

Harry swore he’d never be truly happy, never discover what it could be like to have someone love him for who he was.

 

Until he met Louis, that is. Louis changed everything. Louis was like going on a roller coaster without a seat belt on. Louis was tying a rock to your ankle and jumping into the deepest ocean. But Louis was also a safety net. Louis was a lifejacket. Louis was his saving grace. Louis was protection. His eyes were bluer than any ocean and deeper and more complex than any skyline. He was the world, and a little bit of the universe, too.

 

He proposed to Harry on a quiet evening out, and he promised to make Harry feel whole again, until the day he died. Harry said yes, absolutely yes, and they cried while they held each other. Except Harry’s tears weren’t only due to Louis promising to love him, they were also because he knew he would never ever feel whole again, not completely.

 

 

 

 

_Present Day - February 27_

 

“Haz.”

 

“Mph.”

 

“Harry, love.”

 

“M’tired.”

 

Even through his sleepy haze, Harry could hear the sound of Louis chuckling. “I know, babe. But you gotta sit up so you can your meds. I’m sorry for waking you. You can go back to sleep after.”

 

Soft lips pressed against Harry’s temple, and he rolled over, muffling a scream into the pillow. Louis snorted, Harry listening to him pick up a glass off of the small side table.

 

“C’mon, babes,” Louis sighed. “You’ve gotta take your meds. Just like every other day.”

 

Harry sat up in the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his hands around his ankles. A frown creased his face as he avoided Louis’ eyes. “I haven’t eaten anything. I’ll get sick.”

 

Louis frowned, and even in the dim light filtering in from the hallway outside Harry could tell that his husband was exhausted. Dark circles ran under his eyes, his usual crinkled dimples turned downwards as he fussed and worried over Harry after a long day of work, just like he’d done every other night since they’d gotten married. Louis worked for a law firm, and he worked 9-5 every day, with the occasional few days off because he was a hard worker. He did most of the cooking and paid most, if not all, of the bills. He kept the house, and Harry, afloat. While Harry slept until noon every day and worked four hours at the preschool with his best friend Zayn, and by the time Zayn dropped him home again he was exhausted and drained and went straight to bed again like he’d never left it. Louis worked like a normal human being, getting up earlier than he needed to and making breakfast and lunch that Harry wouldn’t eat, then calling him at eleven and gently reminding him to get himself up and out of bed, and that he loved him and was proud of him. And even after an eight hour day of dealing with customers and his dick of a boss, Louis always came home to Harry, coaxed him out of bed, kissing him and telling him how _proud_ he was of him. He was always proud, even on days where Harry called out of work and laid up in bed all day, or on days where he wouldn’t eat any of the food Louis had left him in the fridge. Louis constantly was proud of Harry, but for what reason, Harry hadn’t had the faintest idea.

 

Louis’ smile brightened after a few moments of silence, and Harry felt like crying. “No worries. I’ll make you a breakfast sandwich. Or some soup? I think we have mac and cheese, too.” He set the glass of water back down on the table. Harry spied two small blue pills out of the corner of his eye, taunting him. He hated taking his medicine. Sometimes it just made him feel worse than he already did.

 

He allowed Louis heat up a microwaveable cup of mac and cheese and pour out a cup of milk for him, setting them down on the counter. Almost as an afterthought, Louis picked up Harry’s spoon and poured the pasta into a small blue bowl, then placed it down again in front of him, tossing the package in the trash. Louis sometimes did this so Harry wouldn’t be able to track how many calories that were in the food he was being forced to eat. But Harry already knew that there was 220 calories in a cup of Easy Mac, and 48 in half of the skim milk.

 

Before Louis had found about his eating disorder, only knowing he had depression and anxiety and was extremely insecure about his weight, Harry made a list. He had a list of safety foods, foods that were low in calories and that could keep him full and make Louis happy. Stuff like tea, cheese slices, packages of nuts, almond butter.

 

Mac and cheese wasn’t on his list. Mac and cheese was _fattening._

 

He picked up his spoon cautiously, aware of Louis’ eyes on his movements. He sliced a line through half the bowl - around 110 calories on either side. If he finished half of the milk in front of him, it would be approximately 131 calories. His intake maximum for the days was 150. He wondered if Louis would let him take a bath so he could run the water while he stuck his fingers down his throat and cried into the toilet seat, dry heaving and wheezing and coughing up blood. Just a normal evening.

 

“Thank you, Lou,” he said instead, the thoughts swimming in his mind as he chewed a small spoonful. He chewed ten little bites, swallowing harshly. He couldn’t remember what mac and cheese tasted like. Louis just smiled, kissing his cheek and sitting down next to him with his own greasy grilled cheese sandwich and salad with dressing, a full cup of milk in front of him. The numbers went flying through Harry’s head. He was getting a headache now. He barely saw food anymore, just grease and fat and calories. This was no life to live, but he was living it every single day.

 

Once Harry finished half of his food, he swallowed down his pills with a big glass of water, leaving the milk sitting on the counter, probably to rot just like the food in his stomach which was already filtering into his blood and coating his bones with fat.

 

“Thank you, honey,” Louis said softly, cradling Harry’s face in his hands, “I’m going to take a shower. How about you put on a film for us to watch? I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

 

Harry relaxed into Louis’ touch. He was always soft, always gentle with him. Louis never raised his voice. He never got upset with Harry for not finishing a meal, or when he’d find little cuts on his thighs or arms. He never yelled, or put a hand on Harry, or threatened him with hospitals or more doctors. He never told Harry he was disappointed in him; in the lack of money Harry provided, or how he barely could do simple tasks or chores while Louis worked all day, and it killed him. It killed him. Half of him wanted Louis to yell, or shake him, tell him he was a disgrace and a waste of his time. He hated when sometimes Louis’ smile flickered when Harry didn’t eat all day, or when he found Harry in their bedroom in the middle of the day, the blinds drawn, crying and shaking because he hadn’t taken his pills the night before. He always picked him up and held him until his crying ceased, soft whimpers leaving his lips. Louis would whisper words of comfort into Harry’s ears, smoothing the worry lines off of his forehead and placing chaste kisses up and down his arms, his neck and collarbones. He then washed away any blood or tears, changed the sheets, made him soup or tea. Wrapped him in a blanket, or put a sweater over his frail body - lacking nutrients or body fat meant Harry was cold constantly. Louis was always there. Louis always cared for him, no matter the circumstance, and Harry loved him so much, but he constantly felt terrible. Louis supported the both of them, he paid the bills, did the washing and the dishes when Harry was too tired from doing nothing but crying, and he never complained, not once. Whenever Harry would get upset, Louis would shush him gently. “It’s alright, my angel. As long as you’re safe and feeling okay, then I have no problem doing dishes for a few nights while you rest. You need time to heal.” Then he would kiss him, squeeze his fat hips, and ask him if he wanted to go for a walk if it was nice out, or maybe see a film.

 

As soon as he heard the shower start to run and Louis’ music playing on the speaker, Harry made his way into the downstairs bathroom. He locked the door behind him, pulling out the scale from where he had it hidden on the top shelf. His malnourished arms shook under the weight, and he set it down with quite a loud bang. He winced, his eyes tilting upward, but the pipes were still rushing water into the shower, meaning Louis was still rinsing himself off. Harry took a deep breath, taking his clothes off. He made sure to push the scale away from the big mirror over the sink so he wouldn’t have to see his fat stomach rolls and thick thighs. First, he cupped his hands to the sink, keeping his eyes shut tight as he glugged down water so that his stomach was full and aching and he felt like he was floating in the middle of the ocean. Then, he got on his hands and knees, shoving a finger down his throat and emptying the contents of his stomach, imaging a waterfall gushing down down down into a bottomless lake or river. Except he wasn’t majestic or beautiful or worth anything like a waterfall was. He coughed and sputtered, but he was finished in minutes. He was a professional at this by now. Once he’d flushed the toilet, he rested against the cool tile floor, closing his eyes tightly. If he stood up too fast, he’d pass out - something which had happened before. Louis had found him that time. He’d been purging all day and Louis had just gotten home from work.

 

_“Harry, oh my god, oh my fucking...Harry, darling, wake up. Wake up, please.”_

 

_The first thing Harry registered was loud sobbing, a familiar voice echoing around the bathroom. “Harry, baby, can you open your eyes for me?”_

 

_It was Louis. He was shouting at someone to call an ambulance. He vaguely felt cool hands pressing into his face. Harry tried to speak, but his throat was dry as a desert. His head was swimming. It took him a few more minutes to realize Louis was holding him semi-upright, but his head was still sort of lolling._

 

_“Harry, my baby, please, please, wake up, darling.” Louis’ voice jarred him to some sort of sanity. He realized too late that he’d passed out, but he couldn’t remember why. He blinked a few times, his movements slow and sleepy as he adjusted into the sudden brightness of the room, recognizing the lights from their bathroom._

 

_“Lou,” he croaked, his vision a little blurred. He didn’t know why he was on the floor. He couldn’t remember anything._

 

_“Harry, honey it’s me. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love. You’re alright. Stay here with me, love. An ambulance is coming. I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”_

 

It was the first time Harry had been hospitalized. He’d been diagnosed with an eating disorder, prescribed more pills, and given a therapist and a psychiatrist all in one day. The doctors had told him he weighed ninety pounds, which was nowhere near what a twenty-two year old man should weigh. Louis sobbed and held his hand and sobbed some more while Harry drifted in and out of sleep and while IVs pumped nutrients and calories into his blood. His veins ran like rivers under his translucent skin - he’d never forget that image in his head. Once his memory somewhat regained, he remembered coughing up blood, too much blood, into his and Louis’ toilet. He thought he was going to die in his home, in the place where he felt the most safe and comforted with Louis, his husband, his everything. He stayed in the hospital for three days, meaning that Louis missed three days of work. His mother flew out from London to squeeze his fingers gently, caress his cheeks, tell him she loved him. She cried, too, he assumed she did, but he couldn’t really remember from all the drugs they were feeding him. It was all a blur. Harry allowed nurses to shove bagels and cream cheese down his throat, orange juice and chocolates, tea with full-fat milk, which was all the hospital offered. He barely listened while Louis handled all his medical information, speaking in a low voice to a handful of doctors while he assumed Harry was sleeping. Louis never left. He slept with his head on the edge Harry’s pillow, or in one of the hard armchairs on the wall of Harry’s room. He helped Harry change into a new hospital gown every day and walked him to and from the toilet, a gentle hand on his lower back and his other hand holding Harry’s. Louis talked quietly to him while he stroked his hair. He talked about anything and everything, like they were lying in bed or sitting on the sofa at home. He brought Harry tea every morning and held him in his arms until he fell asleep in the evening. He bought him books and comics that weren’t really that funny, but Harry giggled reading them anyway, which made Louis smile. It wasn’t until the second night that he heard Louis break down in the arms of his mother. Harry didn’t dare open his eyes, but his fingers itched to console Louis like Anne was.

 

“He worries me,” Louis sobbed. “I’m so scared I’ll lose him. I don’t know how to help him.”

 

“I know, honey,” Anne whispered. Harry cracked open one eye, watching Anne stroke her fingers through Louis’ hair while he cried into her shoulder. “I know.”

 

(As soon as Harry returned home, he vowed never to scare Louis again. He would never hurt him like that again.)

 

 

 

_A few nights later -  March 4_

 

Harry curled up to Louis on the sofa, cuddling into his soft Adidas sweatshirt. He felt so warm and safe in his husband’s clothes. Louis’ arm was gentle around him as Harry sipped a bowl of chicken and rice soup. His intake of the day would be 80 calories, now that he’d thrown up before his dinner was digested. He set down the bowl, only a few bits of rice left at the bottom. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and covered his face when he yawned.

 

“Are you sleepy?” Louis murmured, coaxing Harry back to rest against his chest. He turned down the volume of the telly as he stroked a hand through Harry’s curls.

 

“Yeah,” Harry croaked, even though he had no reason to be tired. He hadn’t even worked that day, been too busy wishing he could disappear into a hole in the ground and weighing himself every three hours.

 

“Wanna go to bed, babes? You don’t have to stay up for me,” Louis said, kissing Harry’s chubby cheek. “I can carry you.”

 

Harry shook his head, once again feeling like he was a burden on Louis. “M’okay. My pills make me tired, but I can stay awake.” His bottom lip trembled, and Louis stroked his chin. “I’m too heavy for you to carry,” Harry whispered.

 

Louis shook his head quickly, kissing Harry’s lips softly, their mouths making a soft sucking sound as they pulled away. “Never too heavy,” he murmured, stroking the side of Harry’s face. “Never too heavy.” His warm, minty breath was gentle on Harry’s face, and Harry flushed.

 

Harry bit his nails as he felt Louis aimlessly run his fingers through his curls. He loved when Louis played with his hair; he always felt safe and comforted. The house was dark and warm, the dim lights from the living room and the glow from the TV were bright enough but provided enough privacy for a few tears to fill up in Harry’s eyes. He felt Louis’ breathing slow, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Louis made a soft whimper in his sleep, his fingers falling limp on Harry’s neck.

 

“Babe,” Harry whispered, smiling fondly at Louis’ slackened expression as he slept. He never got enough sleep. Work was alwys stressfuul and tiring, and on top of that taking care of Harry barely gave him a sufficient eight hours rest. Harry loved Louis with his entire heart. He’d do anything to make him happy.

 

Harry flicked through the channels, putting on an older episode of _Dance Mom’s_ , one he and Louis had seen before. He stared at the TV without really watching it. There was a particular moment where Abby screamed at the girls, and Louis jumped at the sudden sound, sitting up straight.

 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Harry whispered- he’d ruined it again. He rubbed Louis’ thin shoulders in an attempt to coax him back to sleep. He muted the television, furrowing his brow.

 

Louis smiled sleepily, kissing Harry’s nose. He covered his mouth when he yawned. “S’alright, angel. Didn’t even realize I fell asleep.” Louis pressed his lips to Harry’s temple. “I’m going to run the dishwasher then head into bed. Y’wanna cuddle up with me?”

 

Harry stood before Louis could. “It’s okay,” he said, taking in the deep circles under Louis’ eyes, his deep frown. “I’ve got it. You rest.”

 

Relief shone on Louis’ face, and Harry pretended it didn’t hurt. “Thank you, petal. Will you come up soon?” he asked, wrapping Harry up in a hug. Harry pretended he didn’t mind how Louis gently squeezed his big hips. Always pretending, pretending, pretending.

 

Harry nodded, kissing Louis’ chin. “Of course. Get some sleep. I’ll do the washing up so we don’t have to do it tomorrow.” He kissed Louis’ cheek, his smile sad. Louis squeezed him into a hug.

 

“M’so proud of you, honey,” he whispered, but once again Harry didn’t know why.

 

Harry filled up the dishwasher, even though there weren’t very many dishes inside. Louis had eaten lunch at work and his dinner consisted of only one plate and cup, and Harry’s only meals of the day were eaten out of small bowls, easy to wash. Even though the dishwasher was relatively empty, Harry ran it, listening to gushing water being wasted on four plates and bowls and two mugs. More of Louis’ hard-earned money going down the drain, literally.

 

It only took two days after he was released for the hospital to send the bills. And then more bills. Harry would be ashamed to put the mail down on the counter top as he saw each letter addressed to the Tomlinson family, from Saint Ansel Hospital.

 

Louis would squeeze Harry’s hip, pressing a kiss underneath his ear. “Don’t bother opening them, lovely. I’ll take care of it,” he would say as Harry cried into his hands. Louis started working longer hours to pay the bills off. Harry would sit at the table and watch him, swirling his fork around the food he wasn’t going to eat, feeling terrible.

 

“I can work more,” he said one night when Louis was writing out check after check. The only thing Harry could do was keep refilling his cup of tea and reach across the table every few minutes to brush Louis’ fringe off of his face. “I can pick up more hours, I can start working at the daycare after school is over, too. They need help in the library; I could do that on weekends,” Harry supplied his voice shaky. “I feel horrible, Lou,” he added, his voice softer.

 

Louis shook his head firmly, walking around the table and pulling Harry into his arms. “You need time to rest, my love. Don’t you worry about a thing. Insurance can cover most of the bills. You don’t need to fix anything. Focus on getting well again,” he whispered into Harry’s skin - why were they always fucking _whispering_? - holding him close against his chest. Harry wilted into Louis’ t-shirt, hiding silent tears from the older man. He felt horrible. He always felt horrible.

 

 

 

_March 7_

 

“Hazzy, I drew you a picture,” a shy, quiet voice filtered across the room. Harry smiled adjusting his beanie and crouching down to meet the three-year-old in front of him. His knees groaned at the sudden pressure, but he ignored it. He was used to his joints acting up.

 

“What’s this?” he asked softly, allowing Mary-Kate to put a crayon-drawing in his hands. His grin widened; it was a picture of a very tall man, towering over trees and flowers and houses. Cartoon Harry’s hair was wild and unruly with what looked like a pink headband over his head.

 

“Is this me?” he gasped, putting his hand over his chest.

 

“Yes!” The little girl cheered, her toothy mouth widening. Harry’s heart ached - he really loved his students.

 

“Thank you, Mary-Kate, that was very kind of you,” he said, squeezing the girl’s fingers. “You’re very good at drawing.”

 

She flushed, giggling and proceeding to show him the other drawings she’d done of her family and her pug, appropriately named Pugsly.

 

Harry loved working at Zayn’s preschool center. The children were wonderful; never too loud or overwhelming for him, which was perfect. He sometimes wished he could spend more hours with them; he only worked 12-4, but his therapist (and husband) told him four hours was plenty. Zayn had no trouble fitting Harry’s work schedule around whatever was necessary for him and his mental and physical health. Harry loved Zayn. He was always there for him and was very protective of him, ever since they were roomates in college. Zayn had become friends with Louis, and then he set him and Harry up. (However, Harry had heard Zayn telling Louis that if he ever did anything to hurt Harry, he’d break his nose. Nowadays it just seemed like Harry was the one always hurting Louis.)

 

At half past three, Zayn gently called the young children to bring out their mats and get ready to nap. Harry yawned, wishing he could nap himself, but they had done painting earlier in the day and he needed to wash brushes and put them away in the drying rack, something he actually liked doing - it was busy work, and it kept his mind off track, which was a good thing. It was nice being around other people but also in his own little world. He loved being with Louis, but being home all the time just wasn’t healthy for him; he and Louis knew it. He didn’t mind working.

 

He was halfway through the lot, scrubbing and humming to himself, when Zayn tapped him on the shoulder gently. Harry scratched his head through his beanie, turning and giving him a smile. “Everything okay? Is Nick having trouble sleeping?”

 

Zayn shook his head, his smile mirroring Harry’s. “He’s out like a light, for once. It was so smart of you to get him all hyped up during playtime. Now he’s exhausted.”

 

Harry blushed at the compliment, albeit small. Nick was a good kid, but he could be a little wild, especially during nap time before the end of the day. Harry was usually pretty good at keeping him more on the level and calm side. He was good with kids. He loved kids. And someday, when he learned how to take care of himself, he’d love to adopt a child or two with Louis. It was something they’d discussed once or twice. When they were ready, they always said.

 

Harry knew he wasn’t capable to take care of a baby or a child. He could barely cook himself a meal without hating himself for it, so how could he cook for a baby? How could he get up to change a diaper in the middle of the night when he was too busy wishing he could disappear?

 

“You doing okay, Haz?” Zayn asked, leaning against the counter on the side, where more art supplies was stored in buckets and containers.

 

Harry looked up in confusion, then back down at the brushes. Swirls of paint started mixing together into the sink basin. “Am I doing something wrong?” he asked, eyes widening.

 

“No, honey,” Zayn said, shaking his head. His brown eyes were soft. “I just meant in general. How have you been feeling?”

 

Harry looked back down at his hands. He got a feeling of deja vu, of being a freshman in college before he’d met Louis, when Zayn was the one who took care of him. Zayn and Harry were never romantically involved, but Zayn always treated Harry like royalty.

 

“I’m okay,” Harry said quietly, turning off the sink and placing the last few brushes in the drying rack. He swallowed the bile building up in his throat, avoiding Zayn’s eyes. He was lying to everyone lately.

 

Zayn stepped closer, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Haz-”

 

“Mr. Zayn! Christine took my blanket!” “Did not! Mr. Harry, _Diana_ took the spot I always nap in!”

 

Zayn and Harry exchanged small eye-rolls. “Never a slow day,” Harry said quietly. Zayn punched his shoulder lightly, squeezing his arm as the two of them made their way back into the playroom full of now-agitated three-year-olds who were in no mood to nap.

 

 

 

_Later that evening_

 

**_From: Louis_ **

_Hi, darling. I’ll be home a little late, got a late meeting. I hope you had a good day at work. Take care of yourself. I’ll be home very soon. Call if you need anything at all xx._

 

Harry thumbed a chipper reply to Louis, knowing Louis wouldn’t be able to read it until after his meeting, and he’d see right through Harry’s reply. Based on the time, he had at least fourty minutes until Louis came home.

 

Ironically, Harry was a good cook. He decided to make Louis’ favorite curry and rice and naan bread, because why the fuck not. He put on some music, setting out ingredients on the counter top, feeling his stomach growling at the spicy smells, foods he used to enjoy.

 

“None of this is food,” he told himself firmly as he turned on the burner on the stove. “It’s covered in spiders and dirt. It isn’t food. It’s play-dough. This isn’t food.” He repeated this monologue until he couldn’t smell or see the mouth-watering curry before him, the hot steam making the windows of the kitchen cloud over with condensation. The rice stuck together, just the way he liked it - used to like it - white and puffy and irresistible-looking - _no, fattening, fat fat fat, it’s not really rice, it’s maggots. Don’t eat it, you’re not hungry_

 

He could feed himself one spoonful of rice. He could enjoy it, munch and swallow and then leave the plate for Louis to eat. He could afford one spoonful.

 

But then one spoonful would turn into a hundred, then the entire pot of curry would be downed, burning his throat and his intestines and his esophagus would explode. Curry wouldn’t taste good coming up the other direction. Then he’d probably eat scrambled eggs, and the rest of Louis’ pudding cups, maybe some crisps and applesauce and -

 

Harry bit down on his wrist and screamed, the shrill noise jarring him into some sense. His next movements were robotic as he took a spoon, covering his nose with his baggy sweater so as to not inhale the curry. He splashed a tiny spoonful on his plate, rubbed it around with the back of his spoon. He took two fingers and squished some rice and sauce onto the corners of his mouth, then he left the dirty plate on the countertop next to Louis’. He opened the fridge, going straight to the crisper. He took out a pear. He cut it into fourths, then eighths. He took down a handful of almonds, chewing and crunching and eating the pear. 45 calories for the day. He’d have to mark that down in his book later.

 

Then he did twenty sit ups, bringing his journal downstairs to draw and dissect the day's thoughts until Louis came home. Another day, another lie.

 

  
  
  
  
_A few nights later_

 

 

“Hullo?” Harry had to clear his throat a few times before answering the phone - bingeing and purging tended to dry out his throat, and crying into his pillow didn’t do much good, either.

 

“Hi, Harry, it’s Jay,” a smooth voice answered. “How are you doing, sweetie?”

 

Harry exhaled shakily. Jay had been a motherly-figure toward him ever since he’d met Louis and Louis had brought him home for Thanksgiving break. She was short and a little round around the middle, but kind and gentle. She treated Harry like a son, checked up on him frequently and told him she loved him and Louis every time she rang.

 

“I’m good,” he replied softly. He sat on a stool in the kitchen. “I’m good. Thank you. How are you? He squinted at the clock, mentally doing the calculations. Isn’t it past six in the morning there?” He and Louis had moved to California once they’d finished college since Louis had gotten a promotion there, while their families had stayed mostly in the UK. It was hard being away from them, especially with such a time difference, but Skype and iMessage were Godsends.

 

“Yes, love. I just woke up, I...is Louis there, sweetheart? I need to speak to him.”

 

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is everything okay? He’s just gone to bed; he’s had a long day, d’you want me to wake him?” He felt a panic rise in his throat, his anxiety starting to act up and play games with his head. His voice rose as he spoke, betraying any calm facade he was trying to put on.

 

“Oh, darling, it’s alright. Take some deep breaths. Everyone is safe here. My uncle, Louis’ second uncle, passed away last night. I didn’t have a relationship with him; I barely knew him, and neither did Louis. But my cousin is asking for us to arrange a funeral, and I just...”

 

“Oh, Jay, I’m so sorry,” he said sadly. “That’s horrible. Lou is off tomorrow; I’ll let him know right when he wakes. This must be so hard for you.”

 

“Oh, it’s alright, baby.” It always surprised Harry how easily Jay could talk to him like she was her own child, someone she had given life to. “Like I said, I just didn’t know him well. Maybe that’s why I feel so bad about it. I just need Louis here mostly to mind the girls and come with me to the funeral. I don’t want to go alone.”

 

“Of course,” Harry said softly. He never much believed in God, but he said a quiet prayer in his head for Louis’ family.

 

He talked to Jay for a few more minutes, hanging up the phone once they bade each other goodnight. “ _I love you, baby,_ ” Jay had said, like she always did when she spoke with him. _“Take care of yourself._ ”

 

Harry’s throat always closed up a little when she said things like this.

 

Harry closed the bathroom door behind him, swallowing harshly and sliding down the wall of the shower once he undressed. Panic rose in his throat. Funeral. In London. Which meant Louis would be away from him for the first time in ten years. _Ten_ whole years. He turned the hot water on, a difficult task seeing as his hands were shaking. He felt it beat down on him as he sobbed and shook and felt like he was going to vomit. The funeral would be in a week’s time, meaning Louis would be in London for at least five days. That was five days away from Harry. Harry sobbed, wishing he would drown in the shower. He got on his hands knees, his arms and legs shaking as he choked and sputtered. His hair was matted down to his ears, but he could still hear the door bang open against the wall of the bathroom.

 

 _“Harry._ ”

 

Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut as Louis climbed into the shower with him, fully-clothed. Louis pulled him to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said quietly, rocking Harry in his arms. Warm water beat down on the two of them, mixing with Harry’s tears as he thought of five days alone, without Louis to hold him and make it all better for him.

 

“Baby, baby, shh. Come here, love. Come back to me. What happened? Hey, hey,” Louis shushed him gently. “Sweetheart, shh shh shh. Come back to me, baby. Listen to me. Just focus on me.”

 

Louis pushed Harry up against his chest, constricting him and forcing him to sit up straight. Harry sputtered water out of his mouth. Louis reached up without releasing a tight hold on Harry and turned off the water, somehow grabbing a thick towel and wrapping Harry up, rocking him in his lap and swaddling him up like a baby. “Shh, shh, shh.”

 

Harry tried to focus on Louis’ calm voice, his rhythmic rocking, gentle and smooth, like a boat drifting over a calm lake in the summer. Eventually, Harry stopped fighting and fell limp in Louis’ arms, allowing Louis to finally anchor him to shore.

 

Louis continued murmuring soothing things into his ear, rubbing in between his shoulders and kissing the back of his neck every so often. Harry regained his breath, finally feeling like his heart wasn’t about to explode from his chest. His breaths, although stuttered, evened out to quiet whimpers. Harry allowed Louis to half-carry him to the bedroom. Louis cradled Harry into his lap once again as he rested against the headboard.

 

Harry rested into Louis’ chest, clutching his wet t-shirt. Louis didn’t seem to mind that his sleep clothes were sodding wet, or that Harry was naked, save for a towel. Louis allowed Harry to lay on him and cry quietly into his chest. Harry felt horrible. Not only was he waking Louis up from the sleep he rarely got, but now he was getting snot and spit and tears all over his clean shirt.

 

“What’s happened, baby?” Louis asked after a few moments, keeping contact with Harry’s warm skin.

 

Harry sniffed, resting his forehead on Louis’ shoulder. “Y-your mum called. Her uncle died.”

 

He peeked up to look at Louis, who was frowning in confusion. “I don’t think she ever met her uncle,” he said softly, tilting his head. “Why are you so upset about that, my baby?”

 

Harry’s jaw trembled, his eyes watering again. The thought of spending almost a week alone without his other half made him feel physically ill. He knew those days would be spent lying in bed, the blinds pulled down. He probably wouldn’t eat anything either, or take his medication. He hated the thought of being alone, of not having anyone to care for him or make sure he was eating and showering and getting enough nutrients, _not_ lying in bed or on the couch or thinking of killing himself. Not that.

 

“I don’t want to be alone,” Harry whimpered, hiding his face in Louis’ chest, burrowing and feeling like a small kitten. He didn’t want to see Louis’ reaction, he couldn’t see any more pain on his husband’s face.

 

“I’m never going to leave you alone,” Louis whispered, but his voice sounded broken. “You’re never alone.”

 

Then he dressed Harry in his green Adidas sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, combed his hair back and tied it in a bun off of his face, and laid him down in bed, wrapping him up in the down comforter. Louis got up for a minute and must have cranked the heat; Harry could hear the pipes groaning and the soft _woosh_ as the heat turned on. Louis climbed back into the bed with him, fully wrapping him up in his arms and holding the smaller boy to his chest.

 

“I’d never leave you, baby,” Louis whispered into Harry’s hair, tightening his arms around Harry’s body. “I promise.”

 

 

 

\-- 

A breeze blew through the open window of the kitchen, knocking a few stapled pieces of paper off of the countertop from where they were propped up against the coffee pot and onto the floor. Written on the top in big, blocky letters is _Tomlinson, Harry E. Meal Plan._ It was dated from three years ago.

 

Taped to the fridge is a small index card with a number that went straight to the emergency room, and a list of special private doctors, in case it was two in the morning and Harry was having an Episode or showing signs of Emergency Behavior.

 

In the master bedroom, there is a box with a lock on it. Inside this box, Louis locked in all the razors and scissors and laxatives lying around the house, tucked under their cash and passports.

 

The house constantly has the heat blasting because Harry can’t grow enough body fat or body hair to keep himself warm. Steam trickles down the windows and ruins the wood and bleeds through the cracks that they’ve tried to hide from the prying world outside. Money is getting sucked into the vents that Harry can’t bring himself to dust.

 

The curtains are constantly drawn in the bedroom, because the house is facing east, making the room very bright in the early hours in the morning, and Harry can’t take it. He can’t bring himself to watch the sun rise anymore.

 

They were living in a prison.

 

 

 

When Harry had first returned home from the hospital, Louis had tried to make the home environment normal. It was like bringing a newborn baby home, or a puppy. He half expected Louis to put plastic wrap all over the sofa and foam covers on the edges of tables. Maybe he’d lock the fridge, too, if Harry was so lucky.

 

Louis was given a lot of papers in an envelope. They included names and numbers, what to do if an “emergency” arose, and at what stage he should lock Harry in a cage and force-feed him through a tube.

 

Except not the last part. Or maybe. Harry never read the papers. He didn’t want to see.

 

An Emergency meant that Harry was resisting his medication. Or it meant that if Louis found him with a razor against his wrist at half past two in the afternoon, with the sun begging to explode through the room, he was supposed to ring an ambulance, keep Harry upright, try to keep blood and tears and fat from oozing out of his tiny ribcage.

 

Or something.

 

He got constant migraines from where he’d banged his head on the tile floor, which only meant more pills to swallow. No concussion. The neurologist said he was lucky.

 

Lucky.

 

Meal plans were distributed, which Harry immediately scoffed at. He wasn’t going from eating 100 calories a day to 1,500. There was no way. Zoloft were no longer the only pills he was taking now. He was prescribed three new kinds as well, for three months, which got pushed into a year because Harry refused therapy. They were kind of like a three month trial run for Netflix, he imagined, except none of his favorite shows were available and everything was in Swedish and black and white.

 

Therapy was a nightmare. The room was on the third floor of a yoga studio and a frozen yogurt shop that Harry had no interest in going to. The office looked like a living room, except there was no television, and the blanket resting on the couch wasn’t soft or pale green and didn’t smell like Louis. Harry sat on a couch and twiddled his thumbs for an hour and fifteen minutes. He half wanted to tell the woman that he was actually very good at sitting and doing nothing, thanks to his crippling anxiety and depression, and it was a waste of money and time for the both of them to be there. But he decided not to. He ignored the questions from the kind woman with the bland, boring face. The only thing he did say was “Can I have one of those?” right at the beginning of his session. A jug of cold water with cut up limes (5 calories in each sliver? He wasn’t sure) was swimming in the center of the room, clear plastic cups stacked neatly next to it.

 

He took another cup before he left, too, but he didn’t ask that time.

 

Harry sat in the hallway outside of the office while he waited for Louis to finish talking to the therapist, their voices low. He chewed on his empty cup after he’d finished sucking the juice out of the limes. He was tempted to squeeze some on the cuts inside his elbow, but that would go classified under Emergency Behavior and he’d probably get questioned and Louis would get upset. He was always making Louis upset.

 

Louis wrote out a check for twenty five dollars to the therapist every week, even if Harry never said a word, and Harry felt like crying. The lime juice kind of stung, too.

 

 

 

Another Rule and Regulation that came from knocking his head onto the floor and scaring Louis and his mother shitless was weekly weigh-ins.

 

Harry didn’t like getting weighed. He didn’t like being examined like a rat in a lab. He was never a fan of numbers defining whether or not he was in Danger or needed Special Treatment. He weighed himself four times a day, no issue. But when a doctor slammed a scale down, forcing him to get naked and step up, he panicked. The numbers betrayed him, caught him, threw him up a flagpole for the world to see. All his hard work was publicized for Louis and a room full of doctors.

 

The first time Harry had opened the door to see a tired-looking nurse had come into their home with a heavy-looking scale, Harry had screamed and slammed the door in the poor man’s face. Louis took the stairs two at a time, in his boxers, expecting a murderer, or a robber, or a Jehovah's witness, but he only encountered his husband screeching about a man coming to take him to hospital.

 

Louis had tried and failed to calm Harry down, but he wouldn’t stop crying until the man left. Louis apologized with a thin smile, asking the poor nurse to leave, and ever since then, he got weighed at his weekly nutritional appointments with only Louis in the room while he got naked.

 

Even then, he couldn’t bare to see the look on Louis’ face when his rib cage was bare, or his hipbones, or his thighs which he could never seem to shrink. Louis never said a word, he’d just kiss Harry’s shoulder blade and put a thin bathrobe over his skin. “Beautiful,” he’d whisper softly. Harry’s heart thudded painfully every time he stood on the scale, watching Louis smile at him, trying to make him feel better.

 

His lowest weight was 93 pounds, and he was determined to get even lower than that. Nobody was going to get in his way.

 

 

 

_March 18_

 

Harry woke up late the next morning. The sheets were cold on his body, and he shivered. Someone had cracked open a window, letting the cool afternoon air blow in and out as it pleased. A car honked as it drove by. Sunlight was trying to filter in, quietly, like it was unsure if it would be welcomed in the usually pitch-black bedroom. Harry didn’t recognize the room not in darkness.

 

He rolled out of bed, changing into a fresh pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a loose sweater that covered the new burns on his arms that he’d done last night once Louis had fallen asleep. He made his way downstairs. He was always starving after he had an episode. He figured if he ate now in front of Louis he’d be able to skip out on lunch and supper.

 

Harry grabbed the smallest banana he could find, along with a packet of almonds, his safety foods.

 

“Good morning, angel,” Louis said quietly, squeezing Harry’s waist and pulling him into a hug. Harry smiled and rested his head against Louis’ chest. Louis pressed a kiss to Harry’s shoulder, rubbing smooth circles into his back.

 

“Yeah, that won’t be an issue,” Louis said, and Harry looked up in confusion, then realized Louis was on the phone. Harry kissed his chin, turning and busying himself with the breakfast he was about to fake-enjoy.

 

“I don’t know, Mum, I...” Louis ran his fingers through his hair, leaning in to kiss Harry’s cheek and cradle his face for a moment. Harry looked at him in confusion. Louis looked hesitant, and it worried Harry.

 

 _“What’s wrong?”_ he mouthed. Louis shook his head with a thin smile as if he was saying _Don’t worry about it._

 

“Be right back, sweet.” He squeezed Harry’s hand and made his way into the living room, putting his phone back up to his ear.

 

Harry tried not to panic. He’d woken up to pee and check his weight around eight, and Louis had been on the phone then, too. He knew he was probably talking about the funeral, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious. Although Louis had promised him he wouldn’t be left home alone, he couldn’t help but worry. He could barely survive not having Louis there for him while he was working for eight hours; how would he survive a week with Louis in a completely different country?

 

He knew he was selfish. He realized that, close to him or not, a family member of Louis died and he needed to be with his family. _He_ should be comforting Louis, making sure he got everything he needed.

 

He was so selfish. Selfish and full of himself and worth nothing, Louis probably was going to leave him; he’d meet some boy who could love him properly and take care of _him_ and not swallow up his money in therapy and expensive pills. Harry sniffed, hoping Louis wouldn’t overhear.

 

He wasn’t just selfish, he also wasn’t strong. He couldn’t take care of himself. He couldn’t eat normally, he’d forgotten how to. He didn’t know how to get himself out of bed without Louis asking him to get up and brush his teeth and get dressed. He forgot how to be a real person. He forgot how to be.

 

Being alone never bothered him so much. Sure, lying in bed for eight or more hours without Louis hurt his heart and made his entire body ache, but he still came home every day and held Harry in his arms, pressing his lips to his skin and coaxing him to eat something. Louis would ring Harry every morning before he had to work and tell him he loved him, and ask him to eat something and to be safe. Louis always had so much faith in him.

 

He didn’t want Louis to leave him. He didn’t want to be alone.

 

 

 

“Harry, listen to me!”

 

Harry jumped. He blinked rapidly, noticing a pair of hands on his shoulders. His own hands were resting on the cutting board, his banana slices cut neatly next to his fingers. The knife was gone. His banana was going to rot.

 

He must have blacked out. Oh. That happened sometimes.

 

Louis dragged Harry to the kitchen table, pushing him down with a gentle hand. He squatted down in front of him, placing a glass of cranberry apple juice in front of him. Where the juice had come from, Harry had no idea. He didn’t know how long he had been out for. “Drink.” He said it in a no-nonsense tone, squinting into Harry’s eyes, like he was studying him.

 

Harry didn’t argue. He downed the glass; it took him thirty seconds. 117 calories. Louis waited patiently, his first two fingers on the inside of Harry’s wrist, his eyes on the clock in the kitchen. It took Harry a few minutes to realize what was going on. Louis then rolled up the baggy sweatshirt up to Harry’s forearm. The sound of Velcro made Harry jump again. He watched Louis check his blood pressure, his tongue in between his teeth. He stood up, crossing the room and refilling Harry’s glass. He didn’t need to provide instruction. Harry drank anyway, even though his hand was shaking and his mind was screaming _No! No! NO!_ That makes 234 calories. Done for the day. And the next. He could feel the juice burning holes his sensitive teeth.

 

Louis crouched in front of him again, pushing Harry’s hair back off of his neck. He rolled Harry’s sleeve down, his motions gentle and smooth, but robotic. His face looked sad, but his eyes were soft. He looked at Harry like he was looking at his entire world. Harry tried to smile at Louis, but the juice was attacking him from the inside out.

 

Louis did not smile back. He checked Harry’s pulse again, this time placing his two fingers to the side of Harry’s neck. His hands were cold, or maybe Harry was just too hot. His blue eyes were on the time, his chest rising and falling easily. He furrowed his brow and relaxed his arms once he seemed satisfied with Harry’s circulatory system.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly. He watched Louis stand up and sit in the chair next to him, running his fingers through his hair. Harry’s lower lip trembled. as he watched Louis stand up again, placing his banana and nuts on the table in front of him. Harry blanched, looking at Louis in fear. Louis held nothing but kindness in his eyes, but he also looked terribly serious. “If you eat half of the banana and half the nuts, I won’t tell Doctor Nelson.”

 

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. “What?”

 

If there was anything Louis took seriously in life, it was Harry’s health. Harry didn’t know it, but Louis usually took note of each day Harry took off work, or days where he knew Harry hadn’t eaten. He kept the journal in his work bag, or under the bed where Harry never knew to look. Louis was very aware of Harry, more aware than Harry knew he was himself. He noticed when new cuts and burns appeared on Harry’s pale skin. He noticed when he did laundry when there were tear stains on Harry’s pillow. He was constantly hyper aware when it came to Harry, and Harry hadn’t had the faintest idea.

 

So it was strange that Louis was now giving Harry a choice. He was going to cover for Harry.

 

Louis pulled his chair back, sitting next to Harry once again and pushing the food towards him. “Half of each,” he said.

 

“Just the banana,” Harry said. He could compromise, too.

 

Louis sighed in defeat. “Fine.” Then he opened up the newspaper on the table, letting Harry eat in silence.

 

 

 

“When are you leaving?” Harry said quietly, once he’d finished the banana (85 calories) and cut out all the brown squishy bits, leaving them on his napkin.

 

“A few days,” Louis replied, his voice just as soft. He pulled Harry into his arms, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Okay,” Harry whispered. He could feel the banana twisting in his stomach like a knife, and desperately needed to cut. “Okay.”

 

 

 

_March 23_

 

The funeral was in six days.

 

Louis and Harry left the therapist office (skipping the frozen yogurt and yoga shops, as always) hand in hand at 6:05 - Harry kept glancing at Louis’ watch out of nervousness. Louis decided they were going to get a small dinner at Starbucks. Harry decided he wasn’t hungry and ordered a tea without milk and a small yogurt parfait (220.) Harry scraped the granola off of the top, then plopped the yogurt into a small bowl. Louis pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. Harry ate a sliver of mushed strawberries- they sank to his empty stomach and settled in for the night.

 

Louis usually made a big deal about meals being eaten together in a comfortable setting, somewhere Harry felt safe. Louis wouldn’t ever pry or ask too many questions, which Harry was so thankful for. Louis knew that Harry was private and needed his space, but also made sure Harry knew that he was there for him, too. He gently pushed Harry’s discarded (full fat) Greek yogurt toward him, his lips curving upward, his eyes wary.

 

“How did it go today? Do you think it’s helping?” Louis had asked. He’d picked Harry up promptly at six from the office, handed over his hard-earned money to Harry’s babysitter therapist, squeeze Harry’s fingers, and give him a warm smile, like picking up Harry was the best part of his week.

 

Harry swallowed the same spoonful of mushy strawberries. His tummy ached. He couldn’t handle this much food. His stomach was shrinking. His insides were curling in on themselves. His body was resisting. His bones were aching, his teeth rotting from the inside out. His hair fell out in clumps down the shower drain, and his fingernails were translucent.

 

He’d never felt stronger.

 

“I hate her.”

 

Louis only chuckled, a dry sound. “No you don’t baby.”

 

Harry only sighed, taking a sip of his tea. He let it sit on his tongue, burning the words he wanted to say. He let it singe his skin, punishing him. “I hate therapy,” he said instead, soft. He doused the flames with a tiny tiny spoon of yogurt. (15)

 

Louis reached across the table, intertwined their fingers. He kissed Harry’s hand, skin and bones and not enough blood. “I know, Harry,” his voice barely carried over the sound of college students bursting in to get their iced coffees and colorful juices. “I know you do.”

 

“Will you come with me?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. His eyes widened and before he could stop himself (STOP) he took a spoonful (NO) of yogurt, sprinkled some fruit and granola (FAT) on top (STOP NOW) and shoved it into his mouth, barely chewing. Swallowed. He was going to vomit.

 

“To therapy?”

 

Louis looked surprised, however his voice held nothing but softness, of gentleness. Nothing like Harry’s therapist, nothing like the countless doctors and psychiatrists and witches and wizards that were hired throughout the years to fix him.

 

Louis was different. Louis was _Louis_.

 

“If you think you’ll get more out of it with me there, then of course. Of course, honey. I would love to go with you to therapy. Would that make you feel better?”

 

Harry nodded, looking down at the plate before him. He pushed his food away, feeling his stomach furling and unfurling with warmth that filled him up better than anything else could. Louis loved him; he didn’t need food, or water, or sleep, or toilet breaks or money. He didn’t need anything else if it meant Louis was there to hold his hand and love him.

 

“It’s settled then,” Louis said, a small smile on his lips. “As soon as I come back, we’ll go. Together, okay?”

 

“Together,” Harry confirmed. He squeezed Louis’ fingers, his heart stuttering slightly, whether from lack of nutrients or being in love, he couldn’t really tell.

 

 

 

That same evening, when they were lying cuddled up in bed together, Louis pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead. “You awake, sleepy?”

 

“No,” Harry grumbled. He looked away when Louis smirked so Louis wouldn’t see his smile in response, but Louis noticed everything.

 

“What’s that? Are those...teeth? Does my husband have _dimples_?” Louis exclaimed, keeping his voice quiet and wrapping his entire self around Harry who was trying to burrow under the sheets.

 

“Stop!” Harry shrieked when Louis’ hands started tickling the soft skin of his hips under his t-shirt. “Louis, s-stop,” he giggled, desperately wriggling under Louis’ sudden weight on top of him.

 

Louis peppered kisses all over Harry’s face, pinning his wrists down as gently as he could so Harry couldn’t squirm away. “Stop what? Stop what, you crazy boy?”

 

“I h-hate being tickled,” Harry said as he tried to breathe, but his wild laugh betrayed him. Louis sat back on his heels, waiting til Harry’s breaths recovered. Harry’s stomach moved up and down as a few stray giggles left his lips. Harry laid down on the bed, looking up at Louis and holding one of his hands. Louis brushed Harry’s curls off of his forehead and pressed his lips to his soft skin.

 

Harry pulled Louis’ face close to his, his breath hitching a little as Louis’ hands found his hips again. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly serious, but not uncomfortable. Harry could hear every breath Louis took, could see the way his eyelashes moved every time he blinked. They were always so aware of each other, but increasingly so now. Louis gently pressed his fingers into the skin. “This okay?” Louis murmured.

 

Harry nodded, watching as Louis moved in between his legs. Louis never lost eye contact with Harry as he ever so gently brushed his lips against Harry’s defined hipbones. “How about this?” Louis asked, pressing a wet kiss to the skin.

 

Harry’s breaths grew choppy as he nodded again, quicker and with more confidence this time. “Please touch me,” he breathed. He almost let himself get embarrassed, but then he remember it was Louis. Louis would never hurt him. Louis would never lay an unloving hand on him. Harry wondered if Louis could hear how fast his heart was beating. He felt it thudding against his hollowed-out chest, echoing against his dry, hungry flesh.

 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Louis said softly. His hands moved slowly to the hem of Harry’s joggers. “Want to make my boy feel good.”

 

“Yes.” Harry said. He cleared his throat, whimpering when Louis’ lips found the soft hair of his navel.

 

“Shh, shh,” Louis slid Harry’s sweatpants down slowly, exposing his legs to the warm air of the room. “Let me take care of you. I’ll do all the work, baby. Lie back for me.”

 

“Yes,” Harry replied stupidly. He felt drunk, drunk off of Louis’ low voice and drunk of of the way his smooth lips felt on his pale skin, drunk off of how _gentle_ Louis was being. When there was sex, there was always a constant stream of “Are you okay?” and “Baby, can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Louis knew Harry was insecure about his body, and that he needed reassurance sometimes. Sex and intimacy was kind of off the table now that Harry was so out of it half the time, and usually Louis was too tired after work anyway. They’d usually only have time for a few hickies and maybe a blowjob or a handjob, but they hadn’t gotten fully naked for each other in so long. They both missed the intimacy and the safety they felt when with one another, but it just got to be too much sometimes.

 

Today, however, things were different. Things felt okay.

 

“What do you want, love? Where do you want me?” Louis sucked a kiss to Harry’s belly button. He was still in his boxers, his cock a hard line against his thigh. Louis let his lips brush open-mouthed kisses against the tightening fabric, and Harry moaned. It went straight to Louis’ cock; he started palming himself through his own boxers, which only made Harry groan louder at the sight of Louis touching himself.

 

“Eat me out, please, Louis, want your mouth,” Harry struggled to pull his pants off. Louis helped him, leaning to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek, comforting him as he easily slid off Harry’s trousers.

 

“I’ve got you baby,” Louis said. Without warning, his lips were pressed into Harry’s warmest skin in between his legs. Harry gasped, opening his thighs wider and letting Louis press kisses into the soft skin.

 

“Oh, oh god,” Harry said, barely hearing himself over the soft, wet noises of Louis eating him out and the definite sound of Louis jerking himself off under his boxers. Louis panted into Harry’s hole, sucking and licking and tonguing him just deep enough to make him squirm, but not enough to make him come.

 

“More, more, more,” Harry cried. Louis gasped, his eyes lulling shut and his jerks getting faster. “You, you, oh fuck,” Harry whimpered, feeling warmth coiling in his belly. Louis was so good, so gentle and smooth. His mouth felt sickly sweet, the soft sucking noises contrasting with the scratchy burn of his beard on Harry’s delicate thighs.

 

“So wet, fuck,” Louis pulled away for a second, looking up at Harry through his heavy lashes. Harry reached down to pull his hair, making soft “ _Yeah, yeah, yeah_ ” noises when Louis resumed eating him.

 

“Gonna come,” Harry groaned, wrapping his legs around Louis’ neck. Louis reached up with his free hand and pumped Harry’s cock, hard and throbbing but not forgotten against his stomach. He jerked the both of them while he tongued Harry.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry came suddenly, the dizzy feeling unfurling in his stomach and shooting out hot through his cock. Louis held himself up with one arm, his muscles clenching and unclenching as he jerked himself through his own orgasm. His cock was red and heavy in his hands; Harry wanted to suck it off. His skin was sweating and he looked proper beautiful as he came onto Harry’s lower body, his arms shaking and his head tilted back as he groaned out Harry’s name.

 

“Ungh,” Louis grunted, flopping down next to where Harry was laying on his back. The two lay together, sweaty and panting and covered in come. Louis tangled his legs up in Harry’s as they kissed, holding each other’s faces and breathing heavily into each other’s mouths.

 

“I feel like a teenager,” Harry snorted, and Louis grinned sleepily, pulling Harry against his chest.

 

“Can I um...can I suck you off?” Harry asked shyly, looking down at Louis’ cock, soft but still huge against his thigh.

 

Louis nodded so fast he thought he was going to break something.

 

A blowjob, about fifty hickies, and lots of cleaning up later, the two finally went to bed. Harry closed his eyes tightly as he breathed in Louis’ shampoo. It was the first time in years he’d finally gone to bed happy. He was tired, but not tired of living or tired of hating himself - it was a good tired. He felt normal.

 

Normal, that is, until he woke up screaming. Someone was holding him too tight. His vision was blurring with the thick tears shielding his eyes like the wrong kind of contact lenses. He could barely hear Louis. He couldn’t breathe; he felt like he’d just swallowed a lump of peanut butter. He tried to cough it out, but the noise was dry and hurt his throat.

 

He was flipped around so his back was to Louis. Louis pulled Harry’s arms tight against his own chest and squeezed him to his front. It was constricting, but after a few minutes of heavy breathing Harry eventually calmed down.

 

“My baby, are you alright? Can you breathe?” Louis placed his palm against Harry’s chest, rhythmically trying to get air out of his lungs. Harry sputtered. He was plummeting. He thought he was doing well. He actually thought he was going to be able to sleep through the night.

 

“You need to drink something,” Louis said. Harry felt a bottle brushing his lips as Louis coaxed a gulp of Gatorade into his mouth.

 

“Swallow, honey,” Louis reminded him softly. Harry gulped the cool juice down, feeling some dribble down his chin and onto his naked thigh. Louis brushed the droplet away and gently fed him another sip.

 

Louis wrapped Harry up in the soft comforter, laying him down in the middle of the bed. Harry lay there weakly, his eyes tiny slits as he watched Louis stand, going into the bathroom and coming back within five seconds, flicking on a lamp. The light was soft but still hurt Harry’s eyes. Louis helped him swallow down a tiny blue pill, one of the ones for Emergencies when Harry’s heart was too small and his head too big and he needed to deflate. Harry pretended to be asleep while Louis called up his mother.

 

“He’s not getting better, Mum. I was wrong.”

 

Or maybe he’d just imagined it. The pills were messing with his head. Harry drifted off into the land of make believe, where he was a knight and he could actually save Louis for once.

 

 

Harry usually took his medication in the evening, because it made him tired and drowsy. Louis would come home from work and coax him out of bed, making him a small dinner and a cuppa, help him down the pills, and then Harry would go back to bed.

 

Misusing his medication was dangerous. Misusing his medication caused anxiety attacks and shakiness and a general unpleasant feeling would wrap around Harry’s heart and curl up for a nap in his head and prevent him from sleeping or eating or doing anything, really.

 

When Harry had bad days, he was first supposed to call Louis, a general understanding among the two of them. “I don’t want to be at work while you’re upset, love. I want you to always call me. Promise me you will,” Louis had told him years ago, when Harry had first gotten bad. After he called Louis, he was supposed to remove himself from a “dangerous environment”, avoid exercise and drug and alcohol use, take a swig of water and gulp down a magic yellow pill. _Don’t_ throw up. _Don’t restrict. Don’t cut. Don't kill yourself; it's too expensive and too much of a hassle for us to deal with. (That was basically what his papers from the hospital said, anyway. He read them once and tossed them, so he wasn't sure on specifics.)_

 

When Harry had bad days, he would lie in bed with the blinds drawn. He’d text Zayn he couldn’t come to work, and Zayn would immediately ring him, letting him know he loved him and he hoped he was resting. Zayn would always text Louis when Harry wasn’t coming in; he didn’t trust Harry to do it himself. Louis would call him then, sending comforting words that he hoped would wrap Harry up and hold him until he could come home. Louis was too good for Harry, and he was starting to doubt how he’d ever gotten someone as perfect as Louis when he was so fucked up.

 

Harry knew he had a good life. He had a loving, caring husband. His best friend Zayn always looked out for him and made him laugh. His mum was beautiful and selfless. He had a job, they had enough money to get by, and a small but beautiful home. He didn’t hate his life, he just hated himself.

 

 

_March 25_

 

Harry clenched and unclenched his fingers around the sheets in the bed, imaging they were snakes that were trying to strangle him.

 

He hadn’t slept well at all. Louis had another late meeting - Harry suspected his boss was punishing him for taking so much time off of work, but he didn’t know for sure - and hadn’t come home until around ten. Harry had tried to stay awake, but he’d had to stay late himself at work that day. He’d still gotten home at around five thirty, but it was exhausting for him to stay upright and smiling and cheery for such a long time, when all he wanted to do was lie in bed and think about how much easier it would be if he just -

 

No, not today. Not ever.

 

He hadn’t eaten all day either, or taken his medication the night before - Louis had another late night and Harry lied to him and told him he’d taken his meds already, to which Louis hugged him tightly for. “M’proud of you, honey. Thank you for taking care of yourself,” Louis had said. Harry swallowed back the lump in his throat and forced a smile, and then once Louis had gone to bed he turned on the water to cover up the sound of his vomit, then he cried in the shower until the water was cold and the tight feeling in his chest had gone away.

 

He hadn’t called his therapist, or his mother; who was worried about him. He hadn’t done the washing or the dishes or taken a shower or brushed his hair or breathed properly all day. He was so sore and tired from scratching at his already cut up wrists all morning and pulling at his hair at night. He missed Louis, and he was just at work. He didn’t want to think of what his thoughts would be like when Louis was in a completely different time zone.

 

Harry’s suicidal thoughts seemed to cease when Louis was around. Louis kept the bad thoughts at bay, giving Harry affectionate kisses and constantly letting him know how important he was and how much he cared for him. Harry knew he worried Louis; he knew that Louis was terrified that he would come home to find Harry unconscious, or unresponsive, or worse. It killed Harry to think that every time Louis closed the door to go to work, he wasn’t sure if he would come home to his husband alive. He just wished he wasn’t such a burden on Louis, yet he always was.

 

Louis had come home exhausted. He was stressed and upset over having to go to America for his second uncle’s funeral, a man he barely knew. His mother was stressed, which made him _more_ stressed. Harry knew he should run a bath for Louis, or cook him supper, or at least give him a blowjob to help him relax. He knew he should take care of Louis, he _wanted_ to take care of Louis, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He was tied to the floor and was waiting for the ropes to drag him under the house, where he’d sleep forever among the roots and the installation and the lies and secrets.

 

Harry hadn’t gone to work that day. Instead he’d laid up in bed, staining his pillow with tears and letting his fat body roll onto the bed sheets and get stuck. His shirt was in need of a wash, his sweatpants belonged to Louis, but they were baggy and covered his fat thighs well, so he’d wear them every day if he could. His arms hurt and his joints ached every time he rolled over. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Maybe it was two days ago. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care anymore.

 

He wished he could fall asleep, but his mind was wide awake and racing. He just wanted to sleep for a long, long time.

 

Louis came home at 10:17 exactly, his eyes sore-looking and face drawn in. Harry cuddled up around Louis’ blanket on the couch, standing and making his way to the door, where Louis was quietly setting his bag down, taking off his shoes and coat. Harry wanted to cry. He sniffled, his sock-covered feet scuffling on the hardwood. Louis turned sharply, his hand over his heart in surprise. “Oh, hi,” he exhaled, a wide smile on his face. “You scared me.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around Louis’ hips and squeezing his face into his chest, his home was in the arms of his husband.

 

“You didn’t have to wait up for me, honey. But I’m sort of glad you did. I missed you today.”

 

“I missed you,” Harry sighed, leading Louis to the sofa and helping him take off his jacket. “How was work?”

 

Louis yawned, taking Harry’s hands in his smaller ones. “Fine. My boss is killing me, though, but at least I won’t have much to do while I’m gone.”

 

Harry tried not to let his smile droop. He curled up in Louis’ lap, pulling down the sleeves of his jumper so Louis wouldn’t see the three fresh cuts he’d lodged into his skin. _Fat fat fat. Ugly ugly ugly. Fucked fucked fucked._

 

“How was your day, babes? Did Z pick you up, or did you drive in?” Louis asked, rubbing circles into Harry’s shoulder blades. Louis frowned, his movements slowing. “Hey,” he said quietly. He placed his two hands on Harry’s back, around where his lungs were set. Harry’s heart was beating way too fast, and he stiffened in Louis’ arms. “Hey, hey, babes, deep breaths now,” Louis said, going into high alert, scared that his fears from what he read from all the pamphlets were true, and the years of purging and starving was giving Harry a heart attack. Harry shook his head, hiding his face in the arm of the sofa in shame.

 

“Love?” Louis asked in confusion. “Lovely, is everything okay? Can you talk to me?”

 

“ _Ididntgotowork_ ,” Harry mumbled. He closed his eyes tightly. Louis was rarely angry with him, but he knew this would make him upset.

 

“What, darling?” Louis pressed gently. His hands rubbed up and down Harry’s back once more, trying to coax him into speaking.

 

“Didn’t go,” Harry said, his voice muffled by his pillow.

 

“What?” Louis said, his lips pursing in confusion. “Sweetheart, you told me that you were leaving for work when I rang this morning. Harry?” Louis sat up more, staring down at his husband, who was still hiding his face from him.

 

“Harry.” Louis pressed. “Harry Edward Styles, look at me. Why did you lie to me? _Harry._ ”

 

Louis’ voice wasn’t raised or angry, but he made sure to be firm. A relationship shouldn’t be based on lies, especially when he was married to someone with an illness like Harry. Every morning, he called Harry to wake him, reminding him to do his best and letting him know he was proud, even if he didn’t get out of bed that day. Louis didn’t just do it to make Harry feel better, but for himself, too. He worried constantly for Harry’s safety and well being, and he needed Harry to know that he was thinking of him, whether he was at work or in a completely different country. And he _always_ asked Harry to be honest with him, to call him if he wasn’t going into work or if there was a change in plans, or how his therapy appointments were going or how much he’d eaten that day or if he was keeping his cuts clean. And he _especially_ wanted Harry to tell him when he was feeling anxious or having bad thoughts, which Harry only sometimes did. It killed him knowing that there very well may have been times when Harry had an episode and was too ashamed to phone his husband to talk him through it, or to walk him through how to take care of himself after, like drinking enough fluids and making sure he was able to breathe normally. This was new territory for Louis - he didn’t think there had ever been a time where Harry had lied right to him.

 

He could hear the soft sounds of Harry sniffing back tears. Harry curled his body inward so his knees touched his chest as he continued to ignore Louis.

 

“Harry. Please don’t ignore me. Why did you tell me-”

 

“Because I just didn’t, okay!” Harry suddenly blurted out, causing Louis to jump. Harry turned and glared at Louis, his eyes wide and red, his face flushed like he’d been crying all day, which he had. “I just didn’t. I don’t have to tell you everything I do. I’m not a fucking baby.” He hopped off of the sofa, whimpering when his sweater rode a little too high and his soft hips were exposed, along with a few scabby scratches from his nails. He pulled the sweatshirt down and proceeded to leave the room.

 

Louis stood up just as fast, his own heart faltering at the sight of the marks on Harry's ivory skin. “Harry, don’t walk away-”

 

“Don’t tell me what to _do!” Harry shrieked, picking up a flower vase and spiking it to the floor, where the ceramic pieces went everywhere, along with water and the daisies Harry had bought himself a few days ago. Louis jumped, staring with wide eyes at the ground, then back up at his husband. Harry’s hands were shaking at his sides, Louis’ already baggy sweats much too big for his tiny frame. He was crying silent tears, his mouth opening and closing as he stared at Louis like he didn’t know who he was._

 

Louis swallowed. He’d never seen Harry get that angry, never seen him violent. He carefully decided what his next move should be.

 

Harry’s shoulders were shaking with every sob, his mouth making a heaving sound as he cried. “M’sorry, I’m sorry,” Harry cried. He reached out his arms as if he wanted Louis to hold him. Louis moved toward him, careful not to move too fast or too abruptly. He eventually made his way across the room and wrapped Harry up in his arms, noticing how thin and light he’d truly become. His hipbones jutted into Louis’ stomach, but Louis ignored it, pulling Harry tighter to him. Louis moved them away from the broken shards on the ground, bringing Harry to the kitchen. Harry’s sobs had turned into whimpers now, and he whined a little at the cold tile on his bare feet. Louis sat him down on the stool by the counter, turning on the kettle and taking out the milk. Neither spoke a word as they listened to the sound of water boiling. Louis picked at his fingernails, all sense of exhaustion on the drive home gone. Harry tied and untied the strings on his sweatpants, once again feeling like a burden.

 

Louis poured the two of them cups of tea, putting only a few drops of skim milk in Harry’s, and more for himself. He then poured out a cup of Cheerios (104), placing them down in front of Harry, along with two pills. “I know you didn’t take your pills last night, and you lied to me today, so could you just take them, please, so we can go to bed,” Louis sighed, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. Harry felt like crying. Louis hated him. He ate twenty cheerios in two minutes and gulped down the pills with the tea. Louis didn’t say a word, just continued drinking his own tea in quiet. He wasn’t even watching Harry eat for once.

 

Once Harry finished 35 cheerios, he pushed the bowl away. Louis sniffed, finishing his tea. “Ready for bed now?” he asked. His voice was relatively calm, but Harry could hear the upset behind it.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. He played with the tea mug, pressing his always-cold fingers against the hot ceramic. “I wish you didn’t hate me. I’m sorry I’m so fucked up.” He didn’t want to look up to see Louis’ reply. He was just waiting for Louis to leave him. Or maybe he’d crawl into bed with him one last time, but turn away from Harry, not hold him like he usually did. Harry felt the back of his throat itching, the cuts on his stomach and wrist begging to be ripped open, so his black, ruined from purging insides and squishy fat could roll all over the new floor and over their feet and drip into the heating vents in the floor.

 

Instead, Louis reached over and took Harry’s hand in his. “I could never, ever hate you. And you’re not fucked up. You’re sick, love. You’ve been through hell. I know life is really difficult for you and I know you think about giving up a lot. I know you’re scared to be alone, or to be without me; or maybe it’s both. I’m terrified to leave you, mostly because I can’t live without you or fall asleep without you, but I know you’re unhappy and I hate it, baby. I wish you knew you deserved to be happy."

 

Louis’ voice was so soft, Harry looked down and felt the tears coming back. Louis knew him better than anyone, and that fucked him up the most. Nobody would ever understand him like Louis did - he didn't know how he'd cope if Louis ever left.

 

“I know your dad leaving hurt you, and I know you’ve seen your mum and your family go through rough shit when it came to money and your dad not paying child support. I know you were bullied in school and I know you’ve had so many panic attacks you’ve lost count, and I know you think you need to lose weight even though your body is so perfect to me; it always was. But I’m going to help you through everything. I’m never going to leave you, love.” Louis cupped Harry’s chin, forcing him to look up. “I wish you would believe me,” Louis whispered. “I care so much for you. That’s why I never ever want you to lie to me, okay? Especially about not taking your meds, or missing work. Were you lying in bed all day, honey? Did you eat anything besides those Cheerios and your tea?” He squeezed Harry’s hands, his blue eyes warm, melting Harry like honey. Harry sniffled loudly and nodded his head.

 

“I, I…” Harry swallowed his embarrassment, nodding his head. “I wasn’t feeling good. I felt bloated and sad about you leaving and I didn’t feel well enough to do anything. I’m so-”

 

“Don’t apologize.” Louis said firmly, shaking his head quickly. “As long as you’re being safe, then it’s _fine_. Never apologize for spending the day in bed, or for feeling bad for no reason at all. Okay?” He kissed Harry’s forehead firmly. “I know you’ve been in bed all day, lovely, but d’you wanna cuddle up and try to get some sleep?”

 

“I don’t deserve you,” Harry said quietly, his bottom lip trembling. Louis kissed the words off of his lips, leading him upstairs slowly - sometimes Harry got lightheaded and stairs were an issue- his heart and his lungs couldn’t keep up with his feet and threatened to jump off the steps and splatter to the floor, and then where would he be without his heart?

 

“You deserve everything,” Louis whispered as he pressed his face into Harry’s warm skin. Harry hoped Louis didn’t notice him pressing into his cuts.

 

 

_March 28_

 

Harry chewed on his piece of brown toast (73) and with the thinnest layer of honey (5) as he watched Louis pack a suitcase on the floor. Louis’ tongue was in between his teeth as he concentrated, and if Harry weren’t so upset, he’d be hugging Louis from behind because he looked so cute.

 

“Are you bringing your grey sweater?” Harry asked, placing half of his toast back down on the plate on the side table. He didn’t have much of an appetite, he never did, but Louis had been home all day and he’d already fed him fifty calories of green beans and some apple slices, and it was only the middle of the day. Louis would be leaving that evening, and Harry felt a little numb.

 

Louis glanced up at Harry, then back down at his suitcase. “I haven’t packed it yet, why?”

 

“Can you...” Harry chewed on his lip. “Can you leave it here?” he asked softly, feeling embarrassed and stupid.

 

“Of course,” Louis replied, standing and making his way to the bed, Harry resting under the covers. He squeezed Harry’s fingers carefully, kissing his cheek. “Gotta keep my baby boy warm somehow, huh?”

 

Harry flushed, resting against Louis’ chest. He immediately wrapped his arms around Harry, holding him close. Harry could feel Louis’ heart beating under his ear, and he closed his eyes tightly.

 

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Louis whispered.

 

It was half past three, meaning Louis’ plane was due to take off in just under an hour. Harry willed himself not to cry - he’d been such a fucking baby. He cried so much in the last week alone over Louis leaving.

 

“I’ve got to get going, honey,” Louis said, but his body was still very much wrapped around Harry’s.

 

“I know,” Harry sighed.

 

Hand in hand, they made their way to the door. Louis turned suddenly, holding Harry’s face in his hands and kissing him so passionately Harry felt like he was about to run out of air. He moaned a little into the kiss, intertwining his fingers in Louis’ hair. Louis pulled away, still peppering soft kisses to Harry’s face.

 

Louis opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then his words spilled out like vomit. “Be safe,” he whispered. “Please, please, whatever you do, be careful. If you need to cut, or throw up, or feel like hurting yourself...” Louis’ chest rose and fell. Harry could hear him swallow, hear the way his breaths stuttered- “if you have it in you, can you call me? Or call Zayn, or your mum? Or if you can’t, please please make sure you wrap up your cuts and keep them clean, please. I put fresh bandages in the bathroom under the sink; they might sting a bit but please…” Louis looked wrecked, and Harry wanted to look away. “Please don’t forget to eat, and if you throw up make sure you stand up slowly and give yourself time, if you feel really dizzy call-”

 

“I’m going to be okay,” Harry interrupted gently. He didn’t want to hear the pain in Louis’ voice for another second. He pressed a kiss to Louis’ forehead, closing his eyes tightly. He didn’t want to hear the way Louis’ voice rose when he thought of Harry cutting himself, or throwing up until he saw stars, or wearing himself so thin he was the shade and thickness of a sheet of printing paper. He didn’t like Louis being a few thousand miles away, worrying that he was passed out in an alley somewhere. Of course Louis worried; he knew that. But hearing it from his own lips killed him the most. He’d completely fucked up a few nights ago. Louis was supposed to be grieving - even if he barely knew his second uncle, an estranged family funeral was a funeral nonetheless, and he needed to be there for his mother and his family, but all he could worry about was his husband.

 

“I love you so much,” Louis whispered. Harry wondered if Louis thought it would be his last time seeing Harry again. “I love you. I love you more than anything.”

 

“I love you,” Harry said, his voice just as quiet. “More than anything. You’re my baby.”

 

The two stood staring into each other’s eyes, Louis cradling Harry’s face, and Harry with his arms wrapped around Louis’ hips. There was no sound other than breathing and the clock ticking in the kitchen. Harry tried to make his heartbeat match it, but he couldn’t figure out how.

 

“Be safe,” Louis whispered.

 

“Call me when you land, and when you get to your mum’s. Send everyone my love.”

 

“I promise I will. I’ll call you in the morning and before you fall asleep, just like I always do. I’ll always call.”

 

“Lou, you don’t…”

 

“I do.” Louis kissed Harry’s lips firmly. “I have to. Not just for you, for me too. Need to hear your voice.”

 

Harry inhaled sharply. “Okay,” he said stupidly.

 

Their foreheads pressed together again for one moment. Harry studied Louis’ eyes, and Louis studied his smell. They breathed each other in and out and drank each other in, holding as much of each other as they could.

 

“Always,” Louis repeated quietly.

 

Harry went straight to bed as soon as Louis’ car drove off. He drank a glass of water and flopped onto the sheets, sobs already racking his chest. Something sharp was sticking into his hand, shoved under Louis’ pillow. He turned on the light in confusion, opening the envelope and taking out a piece of paper, sniffling and smiling a little when he recognized Louis’ handwriting.

 

_Don’t mess up my side of the bed ;). I love you always._

_Lou._

 

 

_Later that night_

 

Zayn stood up at the sound of his doorbell ringing, pausing the telly. He scratched his chest with a yawn, flicking on the light outside on his porch, wondering who the fuck was ringing at two in the morning. He opened the door, squinting. “Harry,” he breathed. “Come in, come in.”

 

Harry had a thin raincoat on that was soaked-through, a backpack on his shoulder. He looked wrecked. He stepped through the house, his tiny body shaking with the sudden warmth. Zayn closed the door, turning off the light outside and hitting the lights in the living room and the kitchen. Harry squinted into the sudden brightness, his jaw trembling.

 

“I’m s-sorry,” he whimpered. “I was alone, and I have nowhere e-else to go. I can’t sleep without Lou.” He looked close to tears, his young face looking so innocent and scared. Zayn shook his head, brushing off his apology.

 

“You don’t need to apologize, love, you know I’m always here when you need me. Lou asked me to check up on you anyway. I know him being gone is hard for you, Haz.”

 

Harry ignored momentarily the idea of Louis asking Zayn to babysit him behind his back, wiping underneath his eyes. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked, his voice shy.

 

“Of course, baby.” Zayn nodded. “Of course. Let’s get you into some dry clothes, okay? I can make you a cuppa.” He itched his beard, pursing his lips. “I don’t have erm, a guest room, but you can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch, or-”

 

“We...can we sleep, like...together...not together, but like...I don’t like to sleep like..” Harry flushed bright red in embarrassment, about to cry again, but Zayn just shushed him, kissing his forehead. It wasn’t romantic, and it wasn’t too much. Zayn took care of Harry constantly when they were in school together, and when Louis had called him a few nights ago asking Zayn for a few favors, Zayn was happy to keep Harry company for a few days. It was the least he could do for Louis, and for Harry.

 

“He’ll want to be alone a lot,” Louis had said. “Which is okay, sometimes, but he usually spends the whole day alone until I get back around suppertime and I can tell usually when he’s had a shite day.”

 

“He eats around 200 calories every day. His therapist, Doctor Nelson, and I are trying to move him slowly up to 500, but it’s so hard because he doesn’t want to.”

 

“He throws up at least six times a day when I’m not there. I don’t let him close the bathroom door when I’m home, even if he’s showering or using the toilet. I keep all my razors locked up, which is a bit of a nuisance when I need to shave but it’s best for him. I keep bandages around the house and cream for his cuts and burns.”

 

“Sometimes we have good days and we take walks and watch films and spend time outside until it gets dark. I think on those days he kind of forgets he’s sick and it feels just normal, like the way he used to be.”

 

“I’m really only calling you because I think he’s becoming suicidal again, and I…” Louis got choked up and couldn’t finish the phone call, so it was up to Zayn to make sure he knew Harry was safe with him. The two of them spent a good fifteen minutes crying on the phone to one another before Louis had to hang up to finish packing, leaving Zayn with a heavy feeling of responsibility in his chest.

 

 

_March 29_

 

The next morning, Louis rang him at eleven, like he always did. Harry assumed Zayn had already let Louis know that Harry was staying with him. Harry could hear Zayn down the hall, humming and playing quiet music and probably eating breakfast and living a happy life. Zayn had helped him change into a pair of his sweatpants and a henley, hugging Harry close until the younger boy fell asleep. Zayn smelled like cigarettes and something musky and nothing like Louis’ chocolate Axe, but Harry finally felt comforted since Louis had gone.

 

“Be good for me, honey. I love you. I'll see you very soon,” Louis said, before the two hung up. Harry held his phone to his chest, squeezing his eyes open and shut. Only five days to go. He could live for another five days.

  


 

Harry wondered if it was considered unhealthy not being able to function without your significant other. He knew he had a mental illness, that his body wasn’t in good shape and he could barely take a shower without feeling faint.

 

Harry lived for Louis’ texts, short as they were. It took all of his strength not to cry into the phone whenever Louis rang him, gently reminding him to eat and look after himself, because he loved him even if Harry didn’t love himself. Harry struggled to survive normally without Louis. Even through his crippling depression and eating disorders, knowing Louis would come home to him gave him willpower to take a few bites of the sandwich Louis made him before he left for work. Or when they went to friends’ houses for dinner, Louis would always tuck Harry under his arm, or put his hand on his inner thigh when they were eating dinner. He’d always ask ahead of time to whoever was cooking, whether a friend or the chef of the restaurant, that Harry be given a smaller portion, something less overwhelming. One time, Louis had a work thing at the fanciest restaurant Harry had ever heard of, and Harry had a panic attack a half hour before they had to leave. Louis was a superhero that night. He calmed Harry down in a matter of minutes, combing his hair back rhythmically and humming soothingly into his ear until Harry was quiet and felt safe. When they’d gotten to the restaurant, Harry immediately clung to Louis’ side. Louis didn’t leave him go all through the night, saying hello to his friends and coworkers that Harry would never remember the names of. Louis simply introduced Harry as “my beautiful husband, Harry” which sent chills down Harry’s spine. Louis would whisk Harry away before anyone tried to ask Harry any questions, like maybe why he wore a baggy sweatshirt and jeans to a dinner party, or how someone so ugly had gotten to be with someone as perfect and magical as Louis - but maybe not the second part.

 

When it was time to eat, Louis made sure he was sitting right beside Harry. He fit his arm easily around Harry’s waist while he chatted along with his friends, his hand busying itself by taking Harry’s unopened menu from its place in front of him. Louis cut a bread roll in half, then in fourths, giving Harry two pieces, then two for himself, then poured out a glass of water for Harry, doing the same again for himself. People were staring, but Harry simply leaned into Louis and chewed his piece of bread, gulping down water quickly to wash it down, before it got stuck in his throat. Louis kept chattering with people, his hand wrapped in Harry’s, the two giving each other gentle squeezes every few minutes, their silent way of saying _I’m okay, are you okay?_

 

When it was time for the first course, Louis called a waiter over and whispered a few things into his ear, handing him a few bills. The exchange went unnoticed by the people at the table, Harry flushing and staring at his picked-apart roll.

 

“I’ve got you covered tonight, baby,” Louis said softly, kissing Harry’s forehead and tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, his smile gentle and warm.

 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, his heart swelling bigger and bigger, too big for his tiny ribcage, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t think about that for the moment.

 

The first course was a heavy chowder and crackers for most, but for Harry, a glass plate was set down, only a small amount of lettuce, spinach, a few boiled eggs, and balsamic vinegar spread on top. Harry wanted to cry (over a salad, no less). He looked at Louis, who was blowing on his own soup, winking at Harry and squeezing his thigh.

 

Dinner was fish for everyone, including Harry, but his portion was much tinier, a squeeze of sauce and some cole slaw at the edge of his plate. Having already eaten most of his salad, Harry had a few bites of the whitefish, his breath stuttering at how well Louis always took care of him. Louis poured him another cup of tea once their plates were taken away, leaning in close and whispering to Harry that he loved him “so so very much.”

 

Harry didn’t know what he’d done to be lucky enough to be married to Louis, but he finally went to sleep with food in his stomach and a smile on his face that evening, for the first time in so long.

 

 

_March 31_

 

Harry woke up the second day at Zayn’s house (four days to go) with a stuttering heartbeat. He was dying. His heart was failing. _Breathe, breathe_. He couldn’t. His chest hurt and his ribs felt sore and dried up as the desert. He was breathing in sand and dust. It was cakeing his lungs. He screamed into the pillow and waited for the ocean to run over his body and take him out to sea to drown.

 

Harry curled up in a ball, listening to Zayn’s house settling. Soft music was playing somewhere, probably the kitchen, and he could hear Zayn’s quiet voice talking on the phone, or maybe talking to himself while he painted or sculpted something. Zayn was introverted and thoughtful and never the life of the party; although he never really needed to be. He was an artist, and it showed through the art-centric activities he had the kids do in daycare. Harry wished he was good at something, too, but he was too busy drowning to figure it out.

 

He woke up again a few hours later, his insides wiped clean with saltwater and his throat dry and sore. He stood up on shaky legs, crossing the room to go to the bathroom. Cupped his hands under the sink, swallowed down tap water. Breathed. Swallowed. Breathed. Breathed. He leaned against the bathroom sink, his shoulders shuddering.

 

Living with Zayn wasn’t bad. He was different from Louis, but had the same soft look in his eyes; albeit Zayn’s eyes were dark while Louis’ were the color of the sky in the spring. Zayn’s voice was just as gentle and soothing as Louis; it didn’t hold the same high, accented rasp as Louis’ did, but it was safe. Zayn was safe.

 

He realized Zayn wasn’t in bed with him anymore, and it was probably early in the morning, but it was hard to tell. It was so foggy out, probably going to rain. Harry hoped his coat had dried by now.

 

Harry closed and locked the door behind him, something that was banned with Louis home, because of That Day where Harry had fainted and Louis had almost had a heart attack.

 

_“I don’t want you locking yourself up away from the world, baby,” Louis would say when Harry tried. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Please no locking the doors. I can’t have you hurt yourself and then I can’t get in to help you quick enough.”_

 

Or, in other words, no throwing up or cutting while Louis was home, unless he was sleeping or showering or busy. Fine. He could work around that.

 

Harry checked again that the door was locked before he took his clothes off. He had weighed himself right before he left for Zayn’s two nights ago; he was 98 pounds. The scale had to be lying to him; someone who was 98 pounds should be skeletal. He looked more like a whale.

 

Harry kept his eyes shut tight before he opened them again and stared at the reflection before him.

 

His feet were swollen, his hands bulbous. His stomach was bulging out like a beer belly, his thighs could crush a soda can. His ribcage had almost disappeared under a layer of fat; he could barely make out the bones anymore.

 

He didn’t want to look anymore. He didn’t want to see what everyone else saw. His eyes were hurting, and his feet kind of hurt from standing up for so long. He dressed again, a pair of Zayn’s sweatpants somehow too big for his giant waist. Zayn was tiny, but maybe he liked feeling smaller like Harry did, too. Maybe he always bought his clothes too big. Harry put on a fresh t-shirt, one of Louis’, and his grey sweater, and a sweatshirt over it. Everything was borrowed. Nothing belonged to him.

 

Louis belonged to him, he was Louis’, but all he had right now was a sweater and a few shirts. Four days to go.

 

Louis opened up the fridge in his mother’s house to get milk for his tea, his eyes widening a little at the amount of foil-wrapped containers and tupperware filled with food. Funerals meant lots of meals were coming to the door, so his mum hadn’t cooked properly in a few days; simply heating up lasagnas and salads and cakes for the family.

 

His childhood home was full of people. Cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends; old and young; some he knew very well and some he had never met before; filtered in and out, some spending the night while some just came to give food and condolences.

 

Louis had never met his dad; he left his mother after Louis, her firstborn, was born. He was literally two days old when his dad packed up and left his mum alone to mind a newborn baby all by herself. Thankfully, she’d found another husband and then she had Lottie when Louis was five, and they were still together. Louis hated his biological father with everything in him. By what his mother said, he was an alcoholic and although he never put his hands on her (Louis didn’t know what he’d do if he ever found out he did), they argued a lot and it became too much for him, so he packed up and left.

 

Louis rarely drank, and if he and Harry did go out they would usually only stay for a short time because Harry would get restless and nervous and would cling to Louis’ arm until they were safe at home, and Louis couldn’t bear to make Harry uncomfortable, even for a second.

 

Louis promised himself he’d never hurt Harry the way his father hurt his mother. He swore to Harry and to himself, no matter how hard it got, he’d never leave Harry like that. Especially when children were on their mind.

 

Louis knew Harry wanted kids, that was why he loved working at the daycare. Harry was patient and kind and so gentle. Louis loved how deep and smooth his voice was, how Harry could make any child feel safe and cared for. They wanted kids, they wanted to adopt and raise them as babies and care for them. Louis cleared his throat, trying his hardest not to cry as he thought of his Harry holding a baby, his tiny arms trembling and his lips soft and smiling. Harry was unwell, he wasn’t happy, and Louis would never, could never, make him take care of a baby when he could barely look after himself.

 

Louis was finding it hard to be around so many people without Harry by his side, and it suddenly struck him that this was how Harry felt every day. He never fully understood what it was that made Harry so anxious and afraid to show his true self. He wished Harry were there with him, under his arm on the sofa or holding his hand under the dinner table, maybe cooking something warm and sweet on the stove, because even if Harry didn’t eat he was the best cook Louis had ever seen, and he wasn’t just saying so because he was his husband.

 

Louis’ family, besides his mother and Lottie, didn’t know about Harry’s disorders or fears or anxieties. Louis simply told them Harry couldn’t miss work when they asked where he was, and that he sent everyone his best. He swallowed down the lies and that the real reason was that Harry couldn’t fly on a plane because he was claustrophobic, and that too many people at once made his heart race a little too fast, and questions made him nervous, and Louis was the only person he wasn’t afraid of, and he didn’t eat properly and slept all day, and he took copious amounts of pills, _oh and one time, Uncle John, Harry cracked his head open and I was the one who found him, oh and Jill, I know we’re second cousins and you’ve never met Harry but he’s suicidal and I text him every hour and when he doesn’t reply I get nervous, but not as nervous as Harry is every damn day, and_

 

Louis’ phone vibrated loudly on the countertop, and he jumped when he read Harry’s name. Squinting at the clock, he furrowed his brow as he did the math out - why was Harry awake so early?

 

“Hi, baby, hi,” Louis answered, keeping his voice soft. He was thankful the house was empty that morning; nobody would be able to see him grinning like an idiot into his phone.

 

“Hi, Lou, m’sorry for calling so early I just miss you and Zayn said I should ring you and I don’t know the time d-difference but -”

 

“Hey, love, shh, you’re fine. I’m so glad you called,” Louis said, sitting on the sofa and bringing his knees to his chest. “You’re fine. It’s half past one here, babes, you’re fine.”

 

“Oh,” Harry exhaled shakily. Louis heard Harry relaying the same thing to Zayn, Zayn calling _I told you there was a big time difference, Haz!_

 

Louis couldn’t help but smile when Harry giggled into the phone. “I miss you so much,” Harry whispered, and Louis frowned, holding the phone impossibly closer to his ear.

 

“I miss you, baby boy. So much.” Louis had to take a sip of his tea, letting it burn his tongue and the roof of his mouth before he kept talking, because he was close to crying again. “Can’t sleep, baby? Did you take your meds last night? Have you eaten?”

 

He knew very well that Harry could be lying to him, could just brush Louis off and say _yes, Lou_ so simply, but he prayed he wouldn’t. That was all he could do these days, just hope and pray that Harry was doing all the necessities to keep himself alive without Louis reminding him to.

 

“I took them yesterday, Lou. I promise,” Harry said, his voice low. “And Zayn is making me some toast and jam right now.”

 

Louis squeezed his eyes open and shut, exhaling a little shakily. “Okay, love. Thank you.”

 

They spoke for another half hour, until Harry was yawning and murmuring quiet responses, so quiet that Louis had to strain to hear.

 

“Get some rest, angel. You’ll need your energy to keep up with all those kids, huh?” Louis smiled. He wished he was there to make sure Harry was warm - he was frequently chilly, especially at night, and Louis always made sure he was wrapped up in his arms tight enough so that his teeth didn’t chatter or his bones didn’t rattle, because he was afraid he would break.

 

Louis waited until Harry fell asleep to hang up the phone, then he checked in with Zayn. He hated that he couldn’t trust Harry to care for himself, hated how his worries were far from eased when Harry told him he had taken his pills, he was doing fine, he had eaten and showered and breathed.

 

 _All is well,_ Zayn replied almost immediately. _Idk why he couldn’t sleep, but I’ll wake him when it’s time to head off to work. He’s doing fine, Lou._

 

 

_A few hours later_

 

Zayn hadn’t meant to make Harry cry. He truly hadn’t, but they were running late and Harry took a frustratingly long time to swallow a slice of brown bread with jam and butter, and an even longer time in the toilet after. Zayn couldn’t help but feel frustrated and a little pissed off. He knew Harry was ill and struggling but for fuck’s sakes, he owned the damn day care and lateness wasn’t tolerated.

 

He hadn’t meant to yell. He hadn’t meant to get too close to Harry. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so harsh when he said _Harry, we need to go, like, now. Why are you being so freaking slow today?_

 

He watched fear flash across Harry’s eyes, watched as he pressed into his wrist, whimpering. Zayn wanted to reach for the tiny boy when Harry held a hand over his chest, like his heart was racing against the rest of his body. Harry was sputtering, clenching and unclenching his fist against his thick sweater. Zayn’s mouth opened slightly watching him tremble and break into pieces, feeling like a piece of shit.

 

“I think, I think I’ll drive in alone, uh, today,” Harry said, and he grabbed his keys and was out the door in seconds, but Zayn didn’t miss the way his face was crumpled and tears were leaking down his sharp cheekbones.

 

Zayn didn’t know what it was like for Louis to wake up every day and see his husband deteriorate before his eyes. Harry was fucking tiny - his hip bones poked through even the thickest of sweaters that he constantly wore, his bony wrists and fingers were prominent against his pale skin. His head looked too big for his neck, and his eyes too wide. His thighs were miles apart from each other, and he shook no matter what the temperature was. Zayn had held Harry close for two nights, and he was terrified he would hurt him. He could count every rib, every bump of his spine, and those were just the physical things. He didn’t even want to know what Harry looked like on the inside, how broken he must be.

 

He watched Harry pull away, feeling a sharp urge to run after him. If a car rear ended him, Harry’s tiny bones would fly out of the seatbelt, his skinny body would crack and break and his veins would explode and he’d hurt, Zayn would hurt, and he’d have to call Louis and it would hurt, and he wondered if Harry thought the same thing every time he drove, and it killed Zayn to think that Harry actually wanted to die, like Louis had voiced to him before.

 

He would never take a single thing for granted again, never take _Harry_ for granted again.

 

Harry couldn’t keep driving after five minutes because his chest was hurting. He pulled over, opening all the windows of the car and heaving. He ached everywhere. He wildly believed that Louis wasn’t coming back, that he was leaving Harry. He needed someone who gave, someone who didn’t just take. He needed someone who was strong enough to hold _him_ at night, someone who could be good to _him_. Someone who could pleasure him properly, not be too fat to ride him or too weak to make him feel so good. Harry couldn’t bear the thought of Louis holding someone else, kissing someone else, confiding in them, but he knew if he ever did, they would be better for him, so much better.

 

Harry pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot, rolling up the windows tight. He didn’t lock the car when he left. Tinny music filled his ears; he ignored it. A woman said hello to him, but he didn’t greet her back. He was afraid if he did, shards of glass would spill out of his mouth and she and everyone inside would scream. The smell of grease and lard curled up inside his nostrils; he was stronger than that. Better than that.

 

Harry got on his hands and knees in front of the toilet and vomited until he was coughing up blood. He coughed and sputtered and heaved and cried, getting snot and spit all over Louis’ swearer, the same sweater he’d slept in last night, because he was a disgrace and ugly and Louis didn’t want him anymore. If Louis wanted him, he wouldn’t have left.

 

Harry spit into the toilet, then stood up to wash his hands, wiping his mouth and leaving the toilet as if nothing had happened.

 

Harry’s day only got worse after. He stumbled into the daycare in a daze, barely acknowledging the cries from the kids, wanting him to hug them and showing them their show and tells and weekend trips and their happy, healthy, lives. He ignored Zayn, who tried to speak with him multiple times. The day was shit, and he felt like shit, and he wanted to pack his small amount of belongings at Zayn’s and lie in bed to wait for Louis to come home, or to die, whichever came first.

 

He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, but he ignored it, focusing solely on writing the morning message on the board. A small hand reached up and patted his thigh. “Hazzy! Look what my mummy brought-”

 

“Would you sit down like you’re supposed to, Christ!” Harry screeched, turning and facing little Mary Kate, who held out a snowglobe. Her tiny face crumpled, her bottom lip wobbling. Harry rubbed his eyes, breathing heavily and pressing his scabby wrist up against the rough fabric of the baggy sweater. Zayn appeared out of nowhere, crouching down and rubbing Mary Kate’s back, asking the little girl kindly to sit back in her seat. Harry was shaking like a bottle of soda, and he was going to explode.

 

Zayn took one look at Harry, then back to Mary Kate. He breathed a sigh of relief when none of the other kids noticed anything had gone on; too busy chattering amongst themselves or running around squealing.

 

Harry stood like a statue as Ryan, another one of the owners alongside Zayn, stepped in to make sure everyone was where they needed to be. Harry’s fingers twitched and he kind of felt like he was going to pass out because he had thrown up his toast, the only thing he’d eaten in two days, and his wedding band weighed heavy on his hands, and he didn’t know how long he was standing there but Zayn appeared, wrapping a tight arm around him and sitting him down in his office, closing the door behind him.

 

“I called Louis.” Zayn’s eyes were soft and sad, but he crossed his arms over himself tightly. “I told him what just happened. He’s pissed at me about this morning, if that makes you feel any better.”

 

Harry only blinked, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought of Louis’ getting angry with Zayn - he couldn’t picture it.

 

“I’m so, so sorry I yelled at you today, sweetheart,” Zayn said. He expected Harry to flinch away when he reached out to touch him, but Harry let Zayn hold his hands. “I’m so sorry. I want to be here for you and care for you, like Louis wants me to. He gave me a right old talk about not pressuring you to eat or to move quickly, and I’m so sorry, honey.”

 

Harry let his words sink in, closing his eyes tightly. He wanted Louis’ hands, not Zayn’s. He was so fucked up, Louis hadn’t even wanted to speak with him; he just wanted Zayn to relay the message. Harry started crying again, and he felt Zayn wiping his cheeks with his sleeves, but more tears made their way down his fat face and Zayn could hardly keep up.

 

“Haz, I need you to listen to me, okay? And please don’t think I don’t love you any less, okay?” Zayn squeezed Harry’s hand, and it took all of his strength to nod.

 

Zayn looked pained, but he took a few deep breaths before continuing. “Louis and I think it would be best if you took a break from working, just until he’s home, and maybe after, if you’re ready. He wants you to ring your therapist at least twice until he comes home, a-and, Haz, baby, you’re so skinny, and I, Louis explained to me that you don’t see what we see but Harry, you’re tiny, like, so tiny, and it kills me to watch you suffer. Please, please don’t think I hate you or think you’re a terrible worker; the kids love you way more than they like me, but you need to care for yourself, love, and Lou thinks -”

 

“You’re firing me,” Harry whispered. He clenched and unclenched his hands, knowing if he pressed into the cuts, Zayn would see. He felt like something was ripping through his chest, or maybe his heart was finally going to stop.

 

“No, no. No. Not firing you. Never ever,” Zayn stammered hurriedly, shaking his head. “Just a vacation. A break. You work so hard, hon, so hard. You deserve time off to heal and watch telly and mind yourself. I have no issue with you staying with me; we can spend the next few days doing whatever you want, love. I’ll buy any healthy snacks you like, and we can pick up your blankets from home if you’re more comfortable with them, and we can-”

 

“Louis is calling me,” Harry replied, taking his silent phone out of his pocket. Zayn sat back on his heels and nodded, scrubbing his hand over his face. Harry wondered if Zayn thought his voice sounded as dead as Harry felt.

 

“Okay, love. Talk to Lou. Take as long as you need. I’m right outside.” And with that, Zayn kissed his forehead and left the room, believing another lie.

 

Harry unlocked his phone, reading unread messages from Louis.

 

_Baby, call me please._

_I love you._

_Harry, love, give me a ring. We need to talk. I love you so much. I’m not angry with you._

_I promise._

_Call me Harry. This isn’t funny._

 

Harry’s chubby thumbs hit the wrong code four times before his phone finally unlocked. Louis answered on the second ring, and Harry could hear his sigh of relief.

 

“My love,” Louis said softly. “Tell me what happened today.”

 

Harry wanted to open up to Louis. He wanted to sob and cry and swear and shout, he wanted Louis to comfort him and make him feel warm and fuzzy inside, he wanted his husband to take care of him, but he was selfish and weak, so he swallowed his words and simply replied, “I’m fine. Zayn is giving me a break. I had a misunderstanding.” His voice was robotic, and he willed himself not to breathe in too sharply or sniffle too loudly, because then Louis would know that he was crying silently.

 

“Harry, you’re not fine. You yelled at your favorite student today. What’s going on? Talk to me. Tell me how you’re doing.”

 

“My head hurts,” Harry whispered; it wasn’t a lie. “Zayn is bringing me home. I have to go.”

 

“I’ll ring you before you fall asleep, love,” Louis replied quickly. “Please answer, okay?”

 

“I will,” Harry said. They said their goodbyes and their I love yous, and then Harry was alone in Zayn’s office. He didn’t know the next time he’d set foot in here again. The ability to make money, to support Louis somehow, was the only reason why he kept going - that, and the children. Everyone who knew Harry knew that he loved kids. Zayn constantly told Harry he admired his patience and warmth towards children, how he got them to listen without ever raising his voice. Harry dreamt of having children someday with Louis, and he knew Louis thought of it, too. Harry wondered if Louis would ever find someone who wanted children just as much as he did, and leave Harry upon realizing Harry wasn’t what he truly needed.

 

Once again, Harry was useless. Worthless. He was out of a job; what would get him out of bed now? Would Louis have to beg him to leave his room now, too?

 

Harry didn’t want to think anymore. If there was one thing he was good at, it was shutting his mind up. Pictures littered the walls of Zayn’s bright office, some of Zayn’s own sketches, but most artwork from the students that got too cluttered in the classroom, but Zayn insisted on keeping them.

 

Harry wondered if Zayn ever got lonely, because he was single and lived alone and most of his family were long gone.

 

It was funny because even when Harry had Louis, a partner to hold and to hold him, he still got lonely. He could only imagine how Zayn felt.

 

Harry went home later that evening after sharing about three short sentences with Zayn. _Yes, I forgive you. Yes, I know I made a mistake. Yes, I’ll be okay._

 

He climbed the stairs to go up to his and Louis’ bedroom, but he got halfway there when he needed to stop and sit down, because his blood was pumping and he felt ill.

 

He decided to sleep downstairs instead, bringing Louis’ pillows and the comforter to the couch. He made himself some tea and half a turkey and butter sandwich (90), leaving the crust wrapped in his napkin in case he got hungry later. He cranked up the heat and went to sleep at eight. The pillow didn’t smell like Louis anymore.

 

 

 

\--

“Baby, can you help me fasten my dress?”

 

Louis crossed the room, buttoning the last two buttons on his mother’s dress. He smoothed Jay’s hair back, kissing her cheek. “You look lovely, Mum.”

 

Jay smiled, squeezing Louis’ hand. Her expression was sad. “Any word from Harry?”

 

Louis swallowed and looked away, shaking his head. Jay wrapped an arm around his waist, squeezing him into her plump body for a hug. Louis was a head shorter than his mother, so he fit easily in her arms. Jay rubbed his back soothingly, a small frown creasing her face.

 

“I feel so bad; I should be mourning over your uncle Robin, not fussing over my husband,” Louis croaked, pulling away, but he knew it was the truth. Harry had been on his mind since his plane took off, and he would be on his mind until he was holding him safe in his arms.

 

“Don’t feel bad, honey. He’s your baby; you’re more than allowed to- shite, we’ve gotta go. Lottie is meeting us there, yeah?” Jay stood up, smoothing out her black dress. Louis helped her into her jacket, fixing his own suit jacket over his pressed shirt. He typed out a text to Harry, knowing he was asleep anyway. He’d see it in the morning.

 

 

_April 1_

 

Louis hadn’t heard from Harry since he’d phoned him in Zayn’s office, and Louis felt ill. It was unlike Harry to not reply to a text or call, no matter what was going on. Louis could hardly focus on each dinner and brunch and family member who stopped by to give their condolences; his mind was across the ocean in California, wrapped around his love.

 

_I miss you. I love you._

 

Harry had lost another two pounds. He almost fell down the stairs on the way back from the toilet, and he made a promise to himself not to use the stairs again until the black spots left his eyes. He was tired, and he’d lost his phone somewhere in a mess of bloody tissues and the box of blades he’d bought yesterday, most of them already used on his fragile skin.

 

He had a half of an orange to keep his body from falling downward, then curled up again on the sofa. His hands were kind of blue, so he shoved them under the blanket and thought of Louis. His mind swirled with images of Louis laughing, getting drunk, kissing other men. Men who could fuck him hard, make him groan and gasp, something Harry hadn’t been able to do in so long. Maybe he’d want someone who could hold him and give him kisses and cuddle him up, because he was only a little over five feet tall and so so cute. Harry felt bile rise in his throat as he thought of someone’s hands on his arse, Louis’ hips, his thighs, his chest.

 

Something clicked inside of him. A light turned off. A car drove off of a bridge and into the ocean. An ambulance crashed. A train flew through the night with no direction, just to _go, get out of here._ He wanted to die.

 

Harry stood up, making his way to the kitchen; the bathroom was too far. He stumbled, and his heart was in his throat. Red spots blinked behind his eyes, flashing lights from a police car. He uncapped his pill jar, swallowing a few dry. Then some more, and some more after that. Louis didn’t love him anymore. Louis was gone. Louis wasn’t coming back. There never was a funeral, and there was no uncle. Louis had _left him_. Harry took a step forward, his head lolling onto his shoulder. He felt like he was having a heart attack, something he’d ignored when he was warned about it. He took another step forward, trying to make his way back to the couch, back to warm comfort of Louis' sheets, the sheets that didn't smell like him anymore, but then the floor swung up in front of his face. His last thought was wishing he could have ever been good enough for Louis Tomlinson. But he was too tired to think and wish and hope anymore, and he was ready to finally sleep.

 

 

_April 1 - Later that evening_

 

“I don’t know why you pierce up your ears like that, Lo. What if they all get caught on something?”

 

“Louis, stop being such a dumb fuck.”

 

“ _Lottie!_ ”

 

“Sorry, Mummy! Love you!”

 

Louis rolled his eyes at his twenty two year old sister, kissing his mother’s cheek. The three of them were out for drinks, away from the crowd and the craziness for a few hours. The funeral was sad, and Louis might have used it as an excuse to cry because of Harry, but that didn’t matter. He prayed for his uncle, that he was doing well in heaven, and now he was planning on getting drunk.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Jay mumbled, grabbing her ringing phone. “Be right back, loves. Hello?” Her heels clicked as she answered her iPhone, leaving the quiet pub and going outside for a moment.

 

“This shit is disgusting,” Lottie spat out her wine. “I have fresh blunts in my room if you want to smoke up later,” she winked, elbowing her brother and spearing an olive, popping it in her mouth.

 

Louis groaned. “Fuck yes, you’re perfect. That’s just what I need.”

 

Lottie giggled, leaning her head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis wrapped an arm around her upper back, kissing the top of his sister’s head.

 

“Funerals are weird,” Lottie sighed, pulling away gently. She leaned on her elbow, pulling the candle at the center of the table toward herself, dripping hot wax onto her napkin. “Like, I felt bad not being sad, because I didn’t really know Robin, but it was still sad being there, y’know?”

 

Louis swallowed sharply, about to reply, when his mother stood in front of the two of them, her jaw trembling and her eyes worried and rimmed red. The two of her children stood up immediately; Louis got there first, wrapping her in his arms. “Mum, what happened?” he asked, Lottie right beside him, her expression equally worried.

 

Jay breathed in and out shakily, looking Louis dead in the eye. “Louis, it’s Harry.”

 

 

\--

Harry was floating. He stared out at a massive expanse of clouds, only slightly worried he’d fall through, but somehow knowing something would catch him anyway.

 

He wondered how long it took someone to go to Heaven. Or Hell - either one. Maybe he had to wait a little longer. He wondered if he would see his grandmother, or his goldfish from his childhood. He was wearing something thin and almost see-through, but for once he didn’t care about how he looked, because he was weightless. He was flying. Harry laid back, letting his eyes slide shut. Birds flew overhead, and a calming ocean breeze settled over him, soft whooshing noises filling his ears. The noises gradually grew louder and louder. It sounded like crying. He tried to cover his ears, but something painful stabbed into him. He started whimpering, flailing around, and then he was falling from his suspension, down, down, down. The calm breeze was screaming. _Harry, Harry, Harry. Oh, Harry._

 

Harry woke up with the worst headache he’d ever had. He was still getting stabbed, and he looked down to find needles in his arms. Definitely not Heaven, then.

 

Someone was crying. Something soft was in his hand, something moving. He had to squint, but he found he was staring into the eyes of his mother.

 

“Oh, oh God, oh, oh my, my baby boy,” Anne cried, and Harry itched to console her, say _Mummy, I’m okay, I’m with Gran now. I’m okay now, Mum. Please don’t cry._

 

“Mum,” he said instead. His voice was a low croak, and it just made Anne cry harder.

 

“Mmmm,” Harry groaned. The beeping noises surrounding him were  hurting his head. The needles were hurting him. He lifted his free hand, the one that Anne wasn’t clutching, to rip them out.

 

“No, no baby. Those are giving you nutrients. Leave them in, please,” Anne stood up, the chair screeching back noisily. Harry stared up at his mother, and then he realized he was alive.

 

“Oh,” Harry sobbed. “Oh, no, no no no no.” He was heaving, breathing heavily and crying. His chest was broken in two. He wondered if his legs were working.

 

“Harry,” Anne gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as she sobbed. Harry was screaming, but he didn’t want to be. He yelped and cried and screeched, his machines beeping wildly and his heart rate going faster than it had in years. He closed his eyes tightly when a much louder beeping noise rang out, loud enough to wake the Dead Sea, and then something pinched his arm and his body fell limp.

 

“...should go home, sweetie. Your flight must have been horrid.”

 

“M’okay here, if you don’t mind. I can’t leave him again, not...”

 

“Are you sure? ...can call you when he’s…”

 

“I’m fine. I need to be here. He’s my…”

 

Harry made a soft whimpering sound in the back of his throat. He’d been hearing multiple voices all day; just bits and pieces of conversation. He wondered if they were talking about him.

 

So he wasn’t dead, not yet anyway. From the small snippets he’d understood, he’d had a heart attack, and taken some pills. He wondered if anyone had told Louis. He wondered if he cared.

 

“My sweetheart.”

 

Harry nearly jumped. An angel was speaking to him. He’d heard this voice before. He wondered if this were the same angel who had saved him, who had carried him here.

 

“Darling, I’m here. Whenever you wake, I’m here. My Harry. My baby.”

 

“ _Lou,_ ” Harry whispered, his voice thick.

 

“Haz. I’m here. Rest. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

 

Harry turned his head toward the voice. He ached everywhere. There was a dull throb in his right arm, a sharp pinch in his left, like he’d been poked and prodded at. His stomach hurt, and his throat was dry.

 

Harry opened his eyes, and felt like a blind man seeing for the first time. Blue filled his vision. The ocean rained down on him. He dove headfirst, not scared of what he’d find at the bottom. Never scared. He skydived into deep blue, crashed into a cloud and soared up, up, up.

 

The two of them didn’t exchange any words for a few moments; just listened to each other breathe. Louis looked tired, so tired, so beautiful. His guardian angel, his saving grace.

 

“I thought I would never see you again,” Louis whispered. His voice was broken. He leaned forward, his lips plush against Harry’s dried, cracked ones; an ocean spilling over a desert.

 

The past few days finally dawned on Harry. He wasn’t numb anymore. He had never felt more alive than he did at that very moment. The floodgates opened, and Louis pulled him to safety before he could drown. He couldn't believe how selfish he was to leave Louis that way.

 

“You tried to kill yourself.” Louis said, a few hours later. Harry was sitting up in bed, still weak and tired and ill. Nobody had been forcing him to eat, but he wondered how many calories his IVs were pumping into him.

 

“Your heart just stopped.”

 

“Your kidneys failed.”

 

“You took so many pills, Harry, fuck, why-”

 

“You didn’t return my calls; I had to hear it from my mum who heard it from Zayn who was the one who called the police-”

 

“Harry-”

 

“You tried to k-kill yourself, Harry, why, why did you do that Harry?”

 

Harry had vomited up blood more times than he could count; he’d cut up his wrists and thighs and arms like he was an artist with a paintbrush on an empty canvas; he’d even apparently tried to commit suicide.

 

Seeing Louis crying made all these things seem mediocre. Elementary.

  
Wimpy.

 

“I can’t live without you,” Harry whispered. He swallowed his own salty tears as Louis drank his own.

 

“I refuse to live without you.”

 

 

_April 8_

 

Louis had left the hospital only twice the past week, and he’d been back within twenty minutes each time. He showered, slept, ate at the hospital. He didn’t go into work. He spoke in a low voice to a room full of doctors and lawyers and police officers, holding Harry’s hand the entire time while Harry pretended to sleep.

 

Harry had never felt more embarrassed. He couldn’t even commit _suicide_ properly. He’d forced Louis to leave mourning a _funeral_ early, just because his heart was screaming bloody murder and he had one too many Zoloft pills.

 

Harry spoke to too many people, people who were forced to stand and speak with him because Louis refused to leave the one chair in the room; needing to be by Harry’s side.

 

Louis told Harry stories once all the people were gone. He talked about London. He talked about how hot it was here in comparison. Harry held on to every word, drank in every time Louis blinked or swallowed, every time a flicker of pain flew across Louis’ face. He would never forgive himself for causing Louis so much pain.

 

“I threw up right after my mum told me.”

“I thought you were…Harry, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You are everything to me, fuck, Harry.”

“I can’t tell you how weak I felt the entire plane ride over here. I was a wreck. If you were really gone, I swore I’d never be happy again. I’d never smile again if there was a world without you.”

“ _Please don’t tell me you did it because of me.”_

 

 

Sometimes they would go on walks if it was nice out outside. Louis would ask a nurse to bring up a wheelchair, and then he’d slide a pair of sweatpants on under Harry’s gown, placing a robe around his bones. A nurse would attach an IV to the chair, following close but not too close behind them. Louis and Harry would go outside, Louis pressing chaste kisses to the top of Harry’s head as he wheeled him around, humming happily. Some days, days where Harry’s medication came early, Harry would fall asleep on these walks (he never meant to, and he always felt horrible about it) and he’d wake up safe and sound in bed, Louis curled around him protectively.

 

“I wish you knew how much you meant to me,” Louis said quietly. “I’ll never leave again if that’s what it takes.”

 

“I wish I was enough for you,” Harry would reply, and then Louis would allow him to cry into his chest, clicking a few buttons on a remote until fuzziness filled Harry’s brain and he fell into a deep sleep.

 

 

_April 11_

 

Harry had been in hospital for almost 10 days now. He received visits from Zayn, who he apologized profusely to. Zayn had gone over to check on Harry, finding him on the kitchen floor, his entire body cold. He’d panicked, called the hospital, then Louis’ mum, not finding strength to tell Louis himself.

 

“Oh, Haz, don’t apologize,” Zayn said quietly. “The best apology you can give me is to heal.”

 

Anne visited almost every day, switching spots on the bed with Louis while Louis showered and ate and took a nap. Even in those short half hour intervals, Harry itched to feel Louis’ gentle touch again.

 

“I want to go home,” Harry whispered to Louis, closing his eyes as Louis stroked up and down his arm. It was two in the morning, and his pills hadn’t quite seemed to settle in yet.

 

Louis stiffened next to him, then relaxed again, exhaling a little shakily. “I found a rehab facility not even three miles away. You...you can’t come home just yet, Haz. You need professional help, and this place is the best in London, the best in the country. Only the best for you. It’s big and there’s a lot of space outside so you can walk; I know you like to take walks; and it’s not like...they don’t tie you down or restrain you, they can’t, I’ve given specific rules for your case, I’ve been working with a psychiatrist here but this could be good for you, baby, it will be good for you, and-”

 

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered. Something soared in his chest, and he stroked Louis’ cheek. “You don’t have to convince me. I’ll go wherever you put me. I trust you with my life.” He bit his cheek and hoped Louis wouldn’t find that ironic. “How...how long do I have to go?”

 

Louis breathed out, and Harry could feel his chest moving up and down slowly. “Four weeks. If you’re good for me, you can come home after those four weeks and just go in once a week again to see a therapist, or do group therapy. I really really think this will be good for you, and you’ll be safe, and they have real beds and real food and it’s not like a hospital; it’s like a mini vacation, only you’ll learn how to heal and-”

 

“I’ll go,” Harry said. He felt tears fill his eyes, nodding his head. “I’m going. If you need me to go then...I’ll go. I’m there.”

 

Hugging Louis goodbye that day was one of the most difficult goodbyes Harry had ever given. He was still in a wheelchair; his body wasn’t strong enough to hold up his body, and his heart couldn’t take walking just yet. Louis kissed his forehead firmly, squeezing Harry’s hands as gentle as he could. “I am so proud of you. Thank you.”

 

The only belonging he was allowed bring were a few pictures and some books. Harry hung up his photographs the first night he was there, right next to his bed on the wall at eye level, so the first thing he saw when he woke was his Louis.

 

 

 

_May 2_

 

Exactly four weeks later, Harry zipped up a new pair of jeans over his legs, putting on a t-shirt with a thin cardigan, an outfit he hadn’t worn in a long time. He had food in his belly, and fresh cuts on his ankle that he’d managed to sneak in the shower the previous night.

 

His stomach ached, even still when he’d gained eight pounds, which he was disappointed in himself for, but his therapist and psychiatrist were so proud of him for it. They had told Louis, and Harry hoped he was proud of him, too.

 

As he slid on a new pair of Toms and took down his pictures, Harry exhaled slowly. He hadn’t been allowed speak to Louis, policy of the facility. He was scared Louis had cried himself to sleep, like Harry had almost every night for the past 28 days. He hoped Louis was back at work. He hoped he was eating healthy and shaving and he prayed he was okay without him there.

 

He wanted to steal some of the flowers in the dining room for Louis, but he ran out of time. It was time to go.

 

As Harry signed himself out, he started crying. Maybe it was because his stomach hurt because it was full for the first time in years, and he had only purged once since he’d arrived. Maybe it was because he was wearing skinny jeans, something he used to blanch even thinking of.

 

But it was probably because for the first time in his life, he was looking up at the sun, and for the first time in a long time he wasn’t afraid of what he was going to wake up to.

 

Harry had a beautiful boy leaning against his car in the parking lot, waiting to welcome him home, and that was all that really mattered. He wasn't fixed, but he was damn well ready to try, especially because he wasn't alone.


	2. 2

_Two years later_

 

 

Louis was sitting on the sofa when Harry came home. He was scrolling through Instagram on his phone and trying to avoid the massive quantity of e-mails waiting for him in his inbox from work. He was waiting for Harry to get home - they had a lunch date at a new vegan restaurant in the city. Louis always told Harry that no amount of money could ever force him to become vegan, and Harry always rolled his eyes at that. Harry was in the transitional phase to becoming vegan - he had already cut out most meats and was transitioning away from dairy. He had to be careful with the new diet though, and he was under careful watch from both Louis and his doctor. Aside from that, he was healthy and happy, and that was all Louis could ever ask for.

 

Louis smiled at receiving a text from his husband. _Be home soon sweet cheeks. Got a surprise for you xx!!_ He furrowed his brow in fond amusement, only wondering what his husband could have gotten himself into. Every day with Harry was a surprise nowadays. He was a bright, sunny joy to Louis’ life, even on days where Harry felt like a cloudy sky and wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and wallow. (He had told Louis countless times that he was very, very good at wallowing.)

 

At only twenty eight, Harry had been through more in his life than anybody else Louis had known. After struggling with various eating disorders and depression for his entire life, he tried to commit suicide two years ago. He spent a month on bed rest with tubes in his throat and three IVs in his arm, being fed through a tube with no comfort but Louis’ arms that held him every night once he was strong enough to sit up in bed on his own. He had a heart attack, faulty lungs, and swallowed an entire jar of antidepressants after convincing himself that Louis didn’t love him anymore. He was six feet tall and weighed only ninety five pounds. After spending time in the hospital, with great pain and hurt, Louis knew it would be selfish of him to wrap Harry up in as many blankets as he could and let him lay in bed at home, the two of them holding each other close. Harry was sick. Harry needed professional help that Louis couldn’t give him. He had been sick for a long time - for too long. He was sick before the two of them were married and Louis knew he’d be sick after, too. Harry spent four weeks in rehabilitation, where he learned to heal. He learned how to love himself as much as Louis and his mother and his best friends and the children in his classroom loved him. More importantly, he learned how to heal.

 

That was two years ago. A lot could change in two years - a lot _did change_ in two years.

 

Harry was doing much, much better.

 

Not perfect, not healed, but _better_.

 

“I’m home! I need attention, please!” A voice rang out in the quiet house, Louis rolling his eyes and standing up off the sofa, plugging his phone into the wall. He heard a closet door opening and closing - Harry was always anal about keeping shoes off of the middle of the floor and out of the way and reminded Louis of it constantly - and bare feet padding into the kitchen. Louis stood up from the sofa, opening his arms for his husband, but stopping short on the tiled floor, his mouth agape and his feet rooted to the floor.

 

Before him stood a tall, beaming man with short hair, the sides cleaned up nicely and his hair slightly curly at the top. It was a mess, and needed to be combed and washed by the looks of it, but _Harry’s hair was gone_. He’d completely chopped it off. It was short, shorter than the length it was when he was eighteen. Louis was shocked. He’d never seen his boy without his long, messy curls that he loved so much.

 

_He looked radiant. Beautiful. He was married to a model._

 

Harry’s excited smile turned into one of sadness, his lower lip trembling. “You hate it,” he said quietly, his fingers trembling. Louis felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. He rushed to squeeze Harry into his chest, peppering kisses all over his sharp cheekbones and jawline, which was even more prominent now that his hair was short. God, he was lovely.

 

“You are so beautiful. You caught me by surprise, darling, that’s all. I was expecting you to bring us home roadkill or something,” Louis chuckled, stroking his fingers through the soft, slightly damp strands. “So gorgeous, Harry. You look amazing, really,” he murmured when Harry still didn’t look convinced. “I can’t believe how good you look with your hair so short. You look like a model.”

 

Harry flushed, pulling away slightly and giggling, swatting Louis away when Louis stepped closer to him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. Harry was never good with compliments, even if he was a million times happier and healthier, and Louis was determined to make his boy feel good about himself, even if only for a day. Harry deserved _everything_.

 

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry mumbled sheepishly, doing a little bow. Louis kissed Harry’s nose, pulling Harry into his chest and rocking him side to side thoughtfully. Harry hummed in satisfaction.

 

“My therapist told me it was good to try new things, like hairstyles or new foods or whatever, so...I did it.” He blew out a breath, looking proud of himself. His cheeks were glowing, and Louis couldn’t help the smile on his face - it was hurting his cheeks but he didn’t even care. “I figured it was better than doing something destructive or painful or taking it out on someone, so I just...made the appointment, and chopped it.”

 

Louis kissed him then, quick and fast with lots of tongue, his hands holding Harry’s delicate face in his own. Out of breath, he pulled away, their lips releasing with a gentle sucking sound.

 

“You made the right choice,” he breathed, Harry still catching his own breath. He smiled, then, licking his red, plush lips.

 

“I should do it more often then,” Harry replied, Louis tugging him by his belt buckle onto the sofa, the two of them giggling and rubbing each other through their jeans with a throbbing intensity. It had started to rain outside, but the sun was in their hearts, and that was all that mattered anyway. Harry had been out of rehab for almost two years now, and he was learning to love his life one day at a time.

 

 

_Two evenings later_

 

 _My Harry- I love you so terribly much. I love you so much it hurts me to write this, because even you reading this, in my own handwriting, will never be enough for me to tell you how much I love you. I love you more than my own life. If I could give you the moon, I would. I’d drop everything for you to make you happy and feel good. I_ **_have_ ** _dropped everything for you, and I’d do it again in a second. My life without you would be so saddening. I would be empty._

 

_I hope you are curled up on the sofa reading this, wrapped in a blanket and drinking tea, or maybe you’ve just finished work so you’re resting in bed. Or maybe you haven’t left our bed at all today (and if you haven’t, that’s alright.) Reward yourself with something warm and cozy for your tummy, some soup or a sandwich or toast and an egg. Please eat something, sweetheart. Even something small. At least drink some water or juice, keep hydrated, my love. I hope you’re comfortable and warm and safe. Always safe._

 

_My darling, you are the sun, and the sky, and the clouds above us. You are the grass and the air I breathe and the flowers you pick and place around our home, because you love being surrounded by beauty and sweet-smelling things. (That’s how I feel being around you.) You are the sweetest thing of all. Just the sweetest thing._

 

_A picture is worth a thousand words, and you are worth a million. To call you beautiful would be an understatement, to call you selfless would be unfair. You are worth words that haven’t even been invented yet, words that are strictly to be used to describe someone as wondrous as you. My husband, my love, my shining star. You’re absolutely the best friend I could ever have. You have the sun on your side, pretty thing._

 

_There is a strength inside you that I could never muster myself, and I’m praying you find this strength while I am with my family - my dearest, you are so brave. You have overcome so many obstacles, jumped so many hurdles to get to where you are now. You are so much more than a disorder or a diagnosis, and I hope you hold onto that. You’re my husband, my beautiful, strong, amazing human of a husband, and you deserve kindness from the world that you have not been given. It is my hope that I can give you even a fraction of the love and support that you deserve, even while we are apart._

 

_My life would not be the same without you. You are a shining beam of hope, even if you haven’t found that hope yourself quite yet. I hope you look back at this when you are having a weak moment, a weak day, and I hope you can find the strength and beauty I see inside of you- if not, then I hope you find me close to your heart and feel me with you._

 

 _I love you, my darling. I’ve loved you for so long, and I_ _won’t ever stop loving, admiring, cherishing you. You deserve to be loved and you deserve to be appreciated. You deserve everything, my angel._

 

 _Stay safe for me. I’ll be back hogging up the bed in no ti_ _me. Sending you endless love from across the ocean._

 

_Always yours, Louis._

 

 

“You big old sap, have you ever not cried reading that?” Louis said, but his voice had no bite to it. His tone was warm and calming, and Harry giggled, rolling his eyes and shoving Louis off of him.

 

“I like it, okay?” he giggled, wiping underneath his eyes. Louis had written him the note when he had left to see his mother two years ago, Harry read and reread the pages so much that they were creased and the paper was thinned out by how many times he held it, cried into it, read it with Louis.

 

“I like you,” Louis whispered, kissing Harry’s cheek and tucking his head over his husband’s shoulder.

 

“You only like me? This is awkward. I thought our being married would really bring us closer together,” Harry sighed loudly. Louis pursed his lips, trying not to laugh. Harry got like this sometimes, witty and full of life and sarcasm. He was always comfortable around Louis, but he wasn’t as timid as before. (Louis couldn’t help but wonder if it was because now he was sure that Louis wouldn’t leave him, and the thought made Louis’ heart ache.)

 

“Stop being annoying,” Louis said, rolling his eyes. Harry furrowed his brow, poking Louis’ stubbly cheek.

 

“You need to shave,” Harry bit back, and even though Louis had his eyes dramatically rolled up to heaven, he couldn’t help but notice Harry’s lips trembling, trying his hardest not to laugh.

 

“You love me with stubble,” Louis scoffed, standing up and popping his hip, puffing out his cheek as if to show off said stubble.

 

“I love everything about you,” Harry giggled, looking up and squeezing Louis’ hands. Louis cradled Harry’s cheek in his palm, pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead. The skin there was soft and smooth - Harry was really into skincare lately - and the two of them stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments, simply enjoying each other’s company. Louis loved him, too.

 

 _When Harry left rehab,_ the only way Louis could describe him was as a shell of himself. When he stepped out of the building to go home for the first time, he latched onto Louis and didn’t seem to want to let go – but Louis didn’t, either. They held hands the entire ride home, Harry crying silently, but never letting go of Louis’ hand, even as he struggled with his seat belt with shaky fingers. Louis continued to kiss his palm and his wrists and his cheek whenever he had the chance, giving him words of comfort as he drove down the freeway. “I’m right here, baby. You’re not going anywhere but home with me, alright?”

 

He looked healthier, Louis couldn’t help but notice. His head didn’t look like it was too big for his body, and he didn’t look as tiny as he had been – but he was small, he was so small. Louis was gentle with him, still helping his long, skinny legs to climb into their car, making sure the seat belt wasn’t too tight on his collarbones. According to Harry’s nutritionist, Harry had gained almost thirteen pounds, but it didn’t look like it. Not at all. He was still terribly underweight, and still unhealthy and _scared_ \- he was jumpy and frightened every time a car honked, he clutched Louis’ arm a little firmer every time a car blared by them with the radio a little too loud. Louis remembered feeling selfish for not thinking about that at that very moment. He just couldn’t believe Harry was _there_ , in front of him. Alive and breathing and _home_. He was _safe_.

 

 _Louis looked up from where he was seated inside the lobby of the center upon hearing the door open. There he was, his boy. His boy with long hair and wide eyes and the most beautiful,_ **_happy_ ** _expression on his face. And when Harry finally stepped into Louis’ arms, Louis promised him that he was never letting him go. Louis held Harry the entire walk over to the car, beside himself with happiness that the day was finally_ **_here_** _. His baby was home. There was nothing he wanted more. Nothing more he could ever ask for._

 

_“Let’s get you home, my dear. Wanna kiss you properly.”_

 

 _Louis was half-hoping that they would have fed him before he left hospital, but he’d only had breakfast and lunch that day with a snack in between. A granola bar, it was on the large file that Harry had in his hands, his shaky, tiny hands. Louis was afraid that Harry would resist, or fight it, or be scared to eat. For the first time, Louis felt afraid. He was scared of the boy before him. He was afraid of what Harry had been through that the psychiatrist hadn’t told him on their weekly phone calls. Status updates on Harry were regular, and sometimes they didn’t ease how terrible Louis was already feeling about his husband being away from him for so long, probably scared out of his mind. Louis was scared that Harry might be angry with him. He’d read about people being distant toward their loved ones after rehab, and he was terrified that Harry would never trust him again. Louis was supposed to keep him safe, he wasn’t supposed to ship him off somewhere after being gone for a week - Louis was supposed to_ **_be there_** _._

 

_But still, Louis spent hours making Harry dinner, he spent two days cleaning the entire house - he scrubbed the toilet, mowed the lawn (something he’d never done before, he thought it a nasty job), decorated each room with its own bouquet of flowers, even the downstairs toilet that they never used because the sink water was always freezing._

 

_And Harry ate most of the dinner, and it took him a while, over an hour to be fair, but he and Louis held hands the entire time, even long after he’d finished eating, and then Louis held Harry in his arms, and they talked and talked and talked until their voices were hoarse and the sun was rising, brighter than ever, because Louis had his boy back._

 

Sometimes, Harry would get overwhelmed. Eating four small meals a day was a lot for him, and usually by the second meal he’d start crying. There were a few times where Louis would come home from work - he was only working half days now, too scared to leave Harry alone for so long - and Harry would be sitting at the kitchen table, crying silently and holding his aching stomach, because he hadn’t eaten this much food in years. (When, in reality, Louis wasn’t feeding him _that much_.) _Louis would hug Harry from behind, kiss the top of his head. “Let’s give you a break today, flower petal,” he said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.” It was always_ ** _we_** _. We’ll try again. Let’s work together. Louis and Harry weren’t separate people; they were connected. They were a_ ** _we_** _. Harry was always grateful, and he’d watch Louis throw out his half sandwich and apple slices and almonds, and then a few hours later Louis would make him a smoothie, and everything was okay. Sometimes it took Harry an hour to eat a bowl of cereal, and that was okay, too, because he was trying so hard and Louis loved him so much. "You deserve to have a break,” Louis always reminded him. “Don’t ever feel bad for taking time for yourself.” He’d run his fingers through Harry’s hair while Harry slurped up the smoothie, and they’d read together or watch a movie like_ Mall Cop _or_ Goodfellas _until Harry fell asleep in Louis’ arms. Louis never minded carrying him to bed, even though he pretended to grumble about it. (Sometimes Harry pretended to fall asleep just so Louis would carry him. Louis pretended not to notice Harry peering up at him every few seconds.)_

 

_A few nights afterward, Louis was towel-drying his hair, the bathroom filled with steam. Harry had taken a shower before him; still seemingly hesitant to be naked around Louis. Louis knew he shouldn’t take it personally; that Harry was still very fragile as he had only been home three or so weeks but it still hurt him just slightly that Harry wouldn’t allow him touch him at all, least of all see him naked. On the other hand, all Louis wanted was for Harry to have the utmost comfort, so Louis would gladly shower alone for a few more nights, as long as it meant that he could hold Harry until they fell asleep, because if there was one thing Louis hated it was sleeping alone._

 

After a week of eating fairly normal - four small meals a day at the most - Harry didn’t look any different. Louis had never felt so frustrated in his entire life. He was doing everything right, it seemed, and Harry still looked like he had no body fat on his body. He looked like he was absolutely starving, even though Louis knew he was eating. Louis ate nearly every meal with him, and when he wasn’t eating with him Harry always texted Louis that he was eating, and Louis always believed him because he loved him. Even if he didn’t believe him, he wouldn’t love him any less.

 

_Harry had changed into a pair of loose sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and Louis tried not to stare at the cuts on Harry’s thin arms - three thin, razor sharp gashes. He tried not to figure out how old they were, because the sight of them made him want to throw up. Louis’ heart beat a little faster, a little louder, when he laid eyes on Harry. It had been too long since he’d seen this beautiful boy on their bed. Louis smiled and swallowed back the bile, holding out his two hands for Harry to grasp onto. He tucked Harry underneath his chin, the small boy scrambling to find a comfortable spot in Louis’ arms. Louis rubbed large circles into Harry’s back, humming an unintelligible tune all the while._

 

_“You smell so good,” Harry whispered, inhaling slow and deep into Louis’ chest. “Oh, Louis,” he said, and then Harry was crying, and his words tumbled out like vomit, Louis listening intently while his heart broke for the hundredth time that day._

 

 _“I cut myself during rehab. And I threw up a few times, and they caught me only once a_ _nd I wasn’t allowed go outside that day, and I was so scared they’d tell you and you’d be mad. And I tried to hide my food so I couldn’t eat,” Harry blurted out, his breaths quickening. “I cut myself a lot, actually, and I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry.” he said quietly, hiding his face in his own hands in shame as sobs shook his tiny body, Louis’ face crumpling._

 

_“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Louis cooed, squeezing Harry ever closer to him. “My beautiful, selfless boy. It’s alright, my dearest. It’s all alright. I wasn’t expecting everything to go according to plan,” Louis said, still holding Harry tightly, angling his face and gently pulling Harry’s hands off of his face so he could see him better. “It’s alright that you slipped up, my love. You’re human. We all make mistakes. You were hurting, baby. You must have been going through so much. I can’t even imagine how much pain you were feeling.” Louis blinked back tears of his own upon thinking of his baby boy crying alone in a tiny, windowless bedroom with nothing but a razor blade and his thoughts._

 

 _“But I lied to you,” Harry continued softly, tears leaking out of his eyes; Louis’ arms only tightening around him. Louis leaned forward, continuing his gentle kisses all over Harry’s face, desperate for Harry to look at him. “I told you I wouldn’t do that stuff. I_ **_lied_** _,” he said thickly; Harry was really sobbing now. Louis rocked him like a baby, murmuring gentle phrases to him, desperate for Harry to listen to him, because his boy sounded so hurt and so frightened, and Louis never ever wanted him to feel this way around him. “I lied to you, I’m so so sorry Louis,” he whispered to himself, tears rolling down his cheeks. Louis peppered kisses to Harry’s face, trying his best to make his tears disappear with the gentle touches._

 

_“And that’s fine with me, sweet boy. That’s perfectly fine with me. You promised me something that would have been very hard for you to keep. I’m so, so fucking glad you’re safe and didn’t do anything too terrible to yourself. You’re safe here in my arms because you are so strong. Messing up only means you’re trying, and you’re still pushing. I’d be more worried if you were just numb; not interacting with anyone or displaying any emotion. Hurt means you’re growing, my dearest. There’s nothing at all in the world I’d want more than for you to be trying for me.” It made Louis feel physically ill seeing his husband so upset. His urge to protect Harry was only strengthening now, seeing his boy crying in his arms. Harry didn’t look convinced, so Louis took a deep breath before continuing._

 

_“Your psychiatrist rang me a few times after she spoke with you, my sweet. She told me how strong she could see you were being. She said you were making healthy choices and that you were sleeping good, and that you looked healthier, and that you were trying. That’s all I wanted, baby. So you purged a few times; you tried again the next day. And you kept trying. You cut yourself; you hurt yourself intentionally a few times, but it wasn’t that many, right, honey? You could have signed yourself out of there, H, you could have yelled at me and gotten angry, but you didn’t. That’s strong to me, baby. I could never do what you did. You’re so, so brave for trying and trying, babe. You’re such a brave, good boy. I would have gone crazy in there; but you looked after yourself the best you could, and that’s all I could have wanted.”_

 

_Harry shuddered in a small breath, hiding his face in Louis’ chest. “I’m brave?” he asked quietly._

 

_“The bravest boy,” Louis replied firmly, feeling Harry’s smile against his skin, even though Louis couldn’t see his face. “My brave boy,” he added, cheesy as it was, but Harry’s answering blush made it feel worth it. “My beautiful, brave, sweet boy.”_

 

_Harry nuzzled his face into Louis’ neck, Louis’ arms finding their way again around his shoulders, firmly pressing him safely into his chest, their hearts beating in unison together for a few moments. Louis leaned over to the bedside table, opening up a drawer. “You never read my letter,” he said, his voice nothing but kind as he handed Harry the piece of paper, his arms never leaving Harry’s hips. Louis kept his lips pressed to kissing Harry’s temple as Harry sniffled, rereading Louis’ letter over and over again until the sky darkened and the two of them said their goodnights._

 

 

 _The first few nights away at rehab were the hardest. Every night was hard, Harry supposed, because he was sleeping without a warm body wrapped around him. But the first couple were the worst, because instead of sleeping with a snoring boy wrapped around his body, he was lying awake choking on his own spit and screaming, crying and wheezing for Louis to help him, but he never came. Instead, countless nurses would give him pills and glasses of water, or they’d wrap him in blankets but it hurt, because it wasn’t_ his _Louis, it wasn’t_ his _husband. Harry was alone._

 

 _He wasn’t allowed to shower without someone watching him, which made him cry out of ins_ _ecurity. Louis was the only one who was allowed see him naked._

 

_When Harry had good days, and he and Louis would get in the tub together, Louis’ eyes never lingered, and his hands never pressed too deep into Harry’s skin. Instead, his words dripped over Harry like the hot water in the tub. “Beautiful,” Louis would whisper, “your body is so beautiful.” And Harry had never felt so loved in his entire life. These baths always lasted hours, until the tap couldn’t spurt out any more hot water, and then Louis would wrap Harry in the thickest, warmest towel he could find, and Harry would never feel as safe as he did right then and there, wrinkled toes and all._

 

_In rehab, showers were five minutes tops. There was no bubbles or kisses or music playing. A curtain blocked his body and where a nurse sat, usually doing a crossword puzzle or reading a book._

 

_Meals were always at the same time every day, and he was woken up twice in the night to make sure he hadn’t killed himself yet. Harry wasn’t allowed to curl up under the stiff sheets until two in the afternoon, he had to get up. So he’d take walks. The facility was open and bright, and he felt a twinge in his heart for Louis; he’d clearly worked hard to find somewhere special for Harry._

 

_Harry read a lot, and wrote letters to Louis that weren’t going to be mailed, but he wrote them anyway, and he planned on giving them to Louis when he got out. He wished he could speak to his husband, even just once. He missed his voice, and his goodnight calls or messages. He missed him so much it hurt, it physically hurt. He missed Louis’ protective nature, he missed Louis’ laugh and hatred for vegetables but he always tried them just because it made Harry feel good. He missed Louis teasing him about his hair but still putting it up in braids when Harry got out of the shower, because Harry loved having long hair and Louis loved him. His psychiatrist spoke to Louis twice a week to update on him on Harry’s progress; so why couldn’t Harry speak to him?_

 

_“He’s proud of you,” the woman told him. “I told him you were making really good progress.”_

 

_“Did you tell him I miss him?” Harry asked, wanting to wring his hands and bite his lips, but he couldn’t, because everything he did was monitored._

 

_“Of course,” she said. “He misses you too.”_

 

_He wasn’t allowed to weigh himself or count calories, which drove him crazy. He wasn’t allowed to do anything more than walking; because strenuous exercise would hurt his new heart. He knew he was gaining; he knew he didn’t weigh what he weighed when he started up. He felt it in his t-shirts; in his belly and his thighs that were growing. His hands didn’t really fit around his thigh anymore, and his arms were getting bigger from what he could tell from the little mirror in the bathrooms. But he also knew he didn’t weigh enough. He had gone into heart failure, and he was told that he was lucky to be alive and walking around. He didn’t feel lucky._

 

_He’d gotten away with purging twice without getting caught – the third time, he wasn’t careful enough, and they had told Louis and his privileges for the day were taken away. Harry was embarrassed; he felt like a child. He wasn’t allowed to go outside for a day; he had to stay in. He curled up in an armchair by the window and cried. He was embarrassed and ashamed. Louis was paying for him to get better, and he was fucking it all up._

 

_Harry had heaved in a deep breath, shoving his first two fingers down his throat, tears streaming down his fat, heavy cheeks. He whined when a key clicked in the door, the handle rattling. the door opened and someone pulled him off the ground, gentle hands holding him up and wiping his mouth quickly and efficiently. He tried to fight the man; clawing at his chest and screaming for Louis to stop, to let him throw up. “I hate myself, let me throw up, I hate myself, Louis, let me go,” he sobbed, thrashing his legs around in panic. It wasn’t until he was lying in bed just minutes later, a nurse sitting right beside him, did he realize it wasn’t Louis at all who had picked him up. That was probably the worst of all of it._

 

_Harry felt a little numb._

 

 

 _When Louis received a phone call at six in the morning, the vibrations loud and buzzing on the dresser, he jumped a foot. He wasn’t asleep; not really. Ever since Harry went away, he never slept for more than a few hours at the time, and it was never a deep sleep. (Sometimes pain medication was the only way he could fall asleep, but he knew Harry would get upset with him if he ever let it get that far. So he laid awake.) A nurse explained to him that Harry was tucked safely into bed and given some tea to help him sleep, and pain meds because he was complaining of a headache. “Give him lots of water, please, and make sure he can breathe normally, and tell him I love him so much and I’m anxious to see him soon, please,” Louis practically sobbed. Louis was_ **_scared_** _. He wished he could speak with his husband; because he knew Harry wasn’t in the right state of mind and would only listen to him when he was like this. He knew Harry must be ashamed and embarrassed of himself; Louis had caught him purging before and Harry’s cheeks stayed red for a good hour or so, even when Louis had calmed him down with a cup of tea and a long cuddle in their bed._

 

_He knew they weren’t going to tie him down or give him a shot to keep him from having a panic attack. He knew they also weren’t going to cuddle him like Louis would, or press kisses to his forehead, or cover his fingers with band-aids, because sticking them down his throat meant they were easily cut up and they could get infected easily. They weren’t going to take care of him like Louis could, and it killed him._

 

 _“I don’t want him to ever be tied down, restrained, or put to sleep. Not_ **_ever_** _.” Louis had said firmly, weeks ago when Harry was still in hospital, drugged out of his mind. He was currently napping and Anne was keeping watch over him while Louis spoke to a therapist from the center that Harry would spend his next month. “If he gets tied down, he’ll get frightened and feel sick to his stomach. He’ll have a panic attack, and then when he gets out he won’t trust me, because he’ll think I’m going to hurt him, too.” Louis cleared his throat, exhaustion and sadness weighing him down. He tried to tell himself that this wasn’t a death sentence, that Harry was only going away for four weeks, that his baby needed to heal. But this hurt so bad. “I don’t want him to be any more scared than he will be, because-”_

 

 _“I promise you, sir, he will not be tied down, put to sleep, or restrained in any way unless he becomes a danger  to himself or to others a_ _round him. We do have very minor, low dosage pills that make a patient feel drowsiness if they’re having trouble sleeping, but he will never be given a shot of any kind to become unconscious, I can assure you. We do everything in our power to keep our patients feeling safe.”_

 

_Louis rubbed two fingers in between his eyes, a headache throbbing. He hadn’t been away from Harry for this long all week, and he was getting antsy. “Alright,” he said, feeling tied to the floor. He was sick of this hospital._

 

_“Alright.”_

 

 

 _Cutting was easier for him_ _. He’d cut his legs and ankles and hip bones with a rusty nail scissors he’d found on the ground. He put little scratches on the pads of his fingers so it would hurt when he picked up a fork to eat, to punish himself. Harry sobbed in the shower or into his pillow in privacy because he knew Louis would be disappointed in him, he knew Louis would be frowning and sighing a little softly if he knew that Harry was still slicing up his body. Louis always got so sad when he noticed Harry’s cuts._

 

_Harry thought about killing himself again for a good ten seconds before he was called out to have his dinner. He let the razor clatter back to its hidden spot underneath his bed, asking brightly if he could bring his book to supper with him. The nurse said yes, a smile on her face, and he smiled back, as if everything was going according to plan._

 

_Louis would startle awake, after having another vivid dream of a phone call from the rehabilitation center, a dream that he’d had the night previous, and a dream he hadn’t had since the first night  Harry was gone. Louis sniffled, blinking back tears and rolling over to Harry’s side, covering his mouth and sobbing into his pillow, trying to get the dream-induced image of Harry’s lifeless body out of his head._

 

 _5 months after rehab,_ Harry woke up in the middle of the night shrieking at the top of his lungs, his voice sputtered and shaky. He was trying to choke himself with his own hands, because he couldn’t spend another night in that awful place without Louis by his side. His cheeks swelled up and his eyes filled with tears as he strangled himself, his air getting cut off firmer and firmer, until two hands gripped onto his and yanked his own fingers away from his choke hold. _Louis, Louis, Louis._ “Harry! Harry, it’s Louis, you’re home, you’re safe. It’s Louis, you’re home, you’re safe. Harry, look at me. Look at me, my precious angel, listen to my voice. It’s Louis, you’re home, you’re safe. It’s me, baby doll. It’s Louis, shh shh shh.” Louis’ voice went from a shout to a hushed whisper as Harry calmed down, his chest heaving and loud whimpers still protruding from his lips. Louis didn’t know what else to do was repeat himself, desperate for Harry to wake up. Louis tugged Harry into his arms, caressing the already-swollen marks on Harry’s neck while also holding Harry’s arms against his chest, keeping his hands from damaging himself any longer. “Shh, it’s alright now. I’m here,” Louis said, rubbing firm circles with the heel of his palm into Harry’s back. He pressed kisses along the fingernail-shaped indents in Harry’s soft, ivory skin, desperate to keep as close as possible to his husband.

 

Harry sobbed into Louis’ neck, his breaths shaky and nervous. Louis rocked him slowly, his hands tightening around Harry’s thin body. “Keep breathing, my love. Doing so well. Just breathe for a bit now,” he said softly, kissing Harry’s bitten, raw lips. “That’s my good boy,” he said again, quieter now. “Can you walk, sweetheart? I can help you. I’ve got you now. Come downstairs with me. Nice and easy. Don’t want you to fall, now.”

 

Harry nodded, his motions slow. “Where am I going?” he asked, his voice childlike. Harry was shaking when Louis helped him stand. Louis couldn’t help but coo at his boy. He’d never seen Harry look so fragile. Louis made sure to keep him steady.

 

“Gonna get you some ice water, baby boy, something for your throat. We’re going together, yeah? Just you and me. Is that okay, pumpkin?” Louis remembered reading in the countless pamphlets sent home with Harry that the best way to help someone through a panic attack was to distract them. Harry was panting heavily, his eyes wild and searching as he got down on his knees, patting the floor like a blind man who had dropped his glasses.

 

“No,” Harry gasped out, shaking his head quickly. “No, no Louis, I don’t feel safe right now. I don’t feel good; I feel like my head is spinning and I’m going to throw up. I don’t feel safe. I don’t remember how to feel safe, Louis, They told me how to help myself without hurting myself and I don’t remember, I don’t remember, please,” Harry was shaking his head violently and pulling at his own hair, all knobbly elbows on his knobbly knees. His curls were twitching with every shake of his head, and Louis was absolutely panicked on the inside. It took all of his strength to remain calm for his baby and do what he did best, which was take care of his husband. Louis hated this, he hated how Harry was hurting right before him. Louis hated this more than anything.

 

“Come here. I’ve got you. Let me help you. Let me make you feel safe. It’s okay if you don’t remember; I know how to take care of you, don’t I? Let me,” Louis whispered right into Harry’s ear. He sat himself on the cold floor of the kitchen, gently coaxing Harry’s fingers out of his curls. “I know my boy so well, don’t I, huh?” He said, keeping his voice light as if they were discussing the weather. “I know how to take care of you."

 

“Yeah, yes,” Harry nodded in agreement. He rested against Louis’ chest, still whimpering out loudly every so often, but his breathing was becoming much more regulated. Louis held him tightly to prevent him from passing out, stroking Harry’s cheek and trying to keep him awake. “Tell me what to do, babes. How can I make you feel safe?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry spurted out, his breaths choked and frightening for Louis to hear. “All I could think of the past month was this house and you and you holding me, and –”

 

“So let me hold you, let me keep you safe,” Louis said softly, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady. He wondered how many times panic attacks like this happened while Harry was away from him, and he pushed the disturbing thought from his mind. “You know where you are, baby, hm? Can you tell me where we are?” Louis tried desperately to hide the desperation in his voice.

 

“Yes,” Harry nodded. Louis turned him around in his arms, wrapping a tight arm around his waist. “I’m home with you. Home with my Louis.”

 

“Yes you are, baby. You’re home. With your Louis, sweet thing. Where you’re safe. You’re staying with me for a long time, precious angel. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

 

Harry whimpered loudly in response, clutching Louis’ t-shirt in his fingers. His breaths started relaxing, however, and Louis continued tracing circles into Harry’s back. “Home with me, home where you belong,” Louis murmured, holding Harry there until his breathing slowed and Harry fell asleep in his arms.

 

The very next day, Louis woke up from a mid afternoon nap to the smell of pancakes and syrup and the sweet-heavy smell of something on the frying pan. Or maybe it was the singing that woke him up (because Louis loved Harry with everything inside him, but his husband couldn’t sing if his life depended on it.) Louis was cautious, because Harry tended to have very unpredictable mood swings after he had a bad night, and taking care of him afterward could take hours. So Louis showered and shaved (he wasn’t hiding his razors from Harry anymore) and made his way downstairs once he was fresh and clean. He wore a loose pair of shorts and a grey cotton t-shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight before him - his beautiful husband stood at the stove, a pink apron covering his front while he wore a big t-shirt belonging to Louis and a little pair of boxer shorts, flipping pancakes like his life depended on it. _“And it’s hard to dance, with the devil on your back, but giving half the chance would I take any OOOFFFF it back,”_ Harry sang, doing a cute little twirl and gasping upon spotting Louis leaning on the door frame, a smile hurting his cheeks. “Hi, love,” Louis said, holding out his hand to kiss Harry’s, Harry crawling into his embrace.

 

“I want to be happy again,” Harry said after he finished his breakfast. He swirled a chopped strawberry around his syrupy plate. He’d eaten almost as much as Louis had, with lots of fruit on his pancakes and some sliced up into glasses of water for the two of them. Harry cooked with lots of fruit and vegetables, and Louis adored his cooking, even though veggies weren’t a friend of his. Louis loved this boy. Harry loved him, too.

 

“I’ll always be here to help you, babes. Let me know if there’s anything you need from me at all, okay? I’m here to make you feel good and safe and happy, no matter what.”

 

“Okay,” Harry smiled at this, forking his last strawberry and chewing it with a close-mouthed smile. Louis leaned forward and kissed his lips, their tongues gentle on one another's.

 

“Thank you for breakfast, sunshine. You’re so good to me,” Louis said, kissing Harry’s dimpled cheek fondly. “Love you so much.”

 

Harry squeezed Louis’ hand, tracing along his bony fingers. Louis kissed the back of Harry’s hand tenderly, the two of them smiling and flushing like fifteen year olds with a schoolboy crush.

 

“In rehab they taught us how to be more open with the people that love us,” Harry said after a few moments of comfortable silence. Louis poured him some more tea, nodding intently. He loved how honest Harry was being to him regarding his feelings. Talking about rehab used to be a tabooed topic, but now they discussed it every day, and it felt good. It felt really, really good.

 

“That sounds really good, babe. Let’s both try to do that, okay?” Louis reached forward to cover Harry’s hands with his own. “Let’s both try to be more open with one another.” Louis felt unmistakable pride in Harry, his heart unfurling and wrapping around his husband. Harry was truly growing stronger every day.

 

Harry smiled, then, and Louis kissed his cheeks repeatedly, causing Harry to giggle. They stood together, sharing chaste kisses as they cleaned up their breakfast, Louis fixing them both fresh cups of tea.

 

“I think I want to have sex with you now,” Harry announced while Louis’ back was turned, causing Louis to drop the tea kettle into the sink with a bang.

 

 

“Missed you, missed you so much,” Louis said gruffly as he thrusted into Harry, achingly slowly. His cock was red and dripping, his arm muscles clenching as he wrapped himself around Harry. Harry could drown in Louis’ arms, and he didn’t even mind.

 

“Missed feeling you, missed being inside of you,” Louis went on; the words making Harry whither and feel goosebumps on his arms. He was aware of the sounds he was making; the way his legs were so tightly wrapped around Louis’; he was afraid to let go.

 

“Missed you inside me, God I missed you so much Lou,” Harry gasped, his back arching when Louis pounded into him. _Deeper, harder, faster._ “Missed – oh fuck,” he whimpered, his fingers finding Louis’ nipple as Louis sucked on his collarbone, one of Harry’s sensitive spots. He was close, so close, so –

 

“Fuck me harder,” Harry said, grounding his hips to meet each thrust. “I want you to come inside me, I wanna feel you. S’been so long, fill me up.”

 

“Fuck, the mouth of you,” Louis hummed, their lips interlocking. Louis bit down on Harry’s lower lip, causing Harry to mewl. Harry tangled his fingers into Louis’ hair, the two panting into each other’s mouths. “ _God_ , yeah, just like that,” Louis said, his voice growing higher as he reached his peak. “I’m g- oh, _Harry_ -”

 

“Come for me,” Harry said, his voice low. A year ago, maybe even a few months ago, he _never_ would have had this sort of confidence, never been able to tell Louis what he wanted him to do to him in bed. He didn’t think he’d get this far, ever.

 

Louis came suddenly, Harry following shortly after. They were both hoarse by the end of it, and almost asleep just minutes after. Louis held Harry in his arms, still catching his breath. His eyes were starting to turn back to a normal color, his lips bitten down harshly, a few bruises blooming on his neck and around his ears. Harry curled into Louis’ chest – he’d never felt as quite as blissfully happy than he was at that moment.

 

“Let’s have a baby,” Louis whispered, and seeing Harry’s entire face light up was worth a thousand words.

 

 

 

 _Harry relapsed two weeks after they sent in their adoption applications._ It was flu season, and the two of them had been sick and miserable together, lying in bed and sharing boxes of tissues. Then, when Louis fell asleep, he woke up to the sound of puking. And more puking. And some more.

 

He would have passed it off for Harry being ill, and he would have gotten up right away to take care of him. But then, he heard Harry _making himself gag_.

 

Louis felt like he was going to throw up himself. He didn’t feel angry, or confused, even. He felt terribly, terribly upset. He felt responsible. He knew relapse could happen. He wasn’t an idiot, and Harry was only human, no matter how many times Louis compared him to being a God. They’d spent too many sleepless nights worrying about finding a family to adopt from. Louis was waking up much too early for work lately, and Harry was stressed about eventually going back to work, even though Louis insisted that it was no rush and he should go back when he was ready. A lot of different emotions surged through Louis, but _protectiveness_ won the race.

 

So, he got up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and opened the bathroom door. He sat next to his panicking husband, wrapped Harry in his arms, and held him to his chest, letting Harry sob into his shoulder. _That was over a year ago, and Harry hadn’t thrown up since. Even if he did, Louis wouldn’t have loved him any less._

 

There were pills that Harry took every morning and night, and he was doing well at transitioning to two meals a day. He and Louis communicated how they felt to one another constantly, and Harry wasn’t hiding anything from his husband anymore - if he felt like cutting, he called Louis. If he wanted to throw up, or skip breakfast, he’d paint his nails or plant another flower in their overflowing garden in the yard, and then he’d tell Louis and they’d talk about it. _They were always there for each other._

 

They adopted a two-month old baby two days after Harry’s two year-release from rehab, and if Louis admired Harry’s smile before, he had never loved anything more than his smile when he looked down at his daughter. All was well. They were well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love you guys have given me the past few years. I had fun writing but the chapter has to end sometime, and I had so much fun meeting you guys and getting such kind feedback. I'm very thankful people like my writing so much. Thank you <3


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